Ditto
by hermioneg393
Summary: (Ghost 1990 AU) Hector and Imelda couldn't be happier. They just bought a new loft, they couldn't be more in love, and their daughter Coco is happy, healthy, and loved. They sing, dance and count their blessings together. That is, until Hector dies mysteriously while out with his friend Ernesto. Can Hector (now a spirit) set things right before his family forgets about him?
1. Life is Good

The sound of sledgehammers broke the suffocating silence of the loft, dust swirling in intricate patterns as the planks of the assaulted wall fell to the ground with a clatter. Muffled voices could be heard through the rubble, and two figures stepped into the light of the newly created opening. One of whom, a long and lanky man wearing what appeared to be an oversized t-shirt and paint-splattered jeans, grabbed some swinging wires to allow the woman opposite him to pass him safely. He took off his mask, looking around at the vast space around him, only to be smacked upside the head by his wife.

"Wait until the dust settles, idiota."

Hector Rivera smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his head, pulling the mask back up over his mouth and nose. His wife moved into the light of one of the many windows lining the walls of their newly-purchased loft, the dust framing her like an angel. Her hair was pulled into a loose bun, the dust settling onto it looking like light snowfall. She wore one of Hector's shirts underneath a pair of overalls, and although they were dirty and the overalls were ripped at the knee, Hector still found his breath catching in his chest, and not from the dust. He began to hum, a mindless tune, letting the emptiness of the rooms around him carry the tune over to Imelda, who had excreted a tape measure from her pocket and began to measure the space between the windows.

He strode over to her, letting his eyes wander and allowing his mind to fill the space. He'd keep his guitar in that corner, over there would be the kitchen, and that would be Imelda's workshop, and Coco's playroom would be nestled in that little area. Imelda had moved to the opposite corner of the loft, her boots clicking with each step and her fingers moving, measuring, calculating with an expert precision. Hector chuckled as he watched her, his eyes sparking with unabashed admiration. She had planned this for years, and she would sooner die than let anything go wrong. He reached her as she began to move away, but he wrapped his arm around her waist and spun her into him, his lips parting slightly as he smiled down at her. Her instinctively cross expression softened slightly, and she reached up to wrap her arms around his neck.

"It's perfect, mi amor. This is going to be absolutely amazing."

Imelda's eyes flicked to the opposite wall, skeptical.

"It better be, or else I'm telling that cabr-"

Hector cut her off with a kiss, swift yet gentle. Imelda rolled her eyes, but he caught a hint of a contented hum leave her lips as they parted. She sighed, and looked around once more.

"Well, at least it's livable."

Hector chuckled.

A month and a half had passed, and the apartment showed clear evidence of both Imelda's and Hector's influences. The walls were painted in practical colors, save for Coco's room, where marigolds bloomed up the walls and childish drawings adorned every surface. Music was everywhere; in Hector's prized guitar next to his desk, in the radio softly crooning in the kitchen, in the rhythm of the people in the house as they moved about their day. Light streamed through the newly cleaned windows,and landed on the few still unpacked boxes in the loft, betraying the orderly appearance of the rest of the loft. A babble of words came from the imagination of the little figure laying on the living room rug, playing with a very disinterested cat. Little Coco held a little dress out to the feline, who turned up her nose and began licking her paw. This did not deter the child, who crooned,

"Please, Pretty Pepita?"

The cat looked at the child, but continued to ignore the child's continuous begging. Coco began to move towards the animal, who got ready to pounce away. Before either party could be subjected to unnecessary struggling, Coco squealed as a pair of sturdy hands picked her up, and she was showered in kisses. Pepita took the opportunity to dart away upstairs, to regain what was left of her dignity before the next assault. Coco gripped the back of her father's shirt tightly, giggling as her father's goatee tickled her forehead. Her father ceased his attack and rested his forehead on his daughter's, breathing in the scent of her strawberry shampoo.

"Thank goodness I got there when I did, mi'ija. One second longer and Pepita may have ripped your doll's pretty dress."

Coco giggled and reached for her father's face. He leaned into her touch and looked over his daughter, his eyes full of the most unconditional love he had ever felt. he was interrupted, however, by Imelda, who came up from behind him and took Coco gently out of his arms, kissing her husband on the cheek before bringing Coco to the kitchen for lunch.

"Si, mi'ija. Pepita always struck me as more of a knight with shining claws than a princess, anyway."

Hector chuckled as he put Coco's plate in front of her, kissing Imelda before grabbing an apple for himself and jumping up onto the counter. Imelda glared at him, causing him to shrink under her famous glare and slid off the counter, suddenly sheepish. Coco giggled and munched on a baby carrot, happy to see her parents acting normally. The domestic scene was interrupted by the buzz of the intercom, causing all three Riveras to jump. Hector jogged over to the door and pressed the button.

"Hello?"

A suave and familiar voice flooded the apartment.

"Hola, Hector! Can I come up?"

Hector smiled apologetically at his wife, who crossed her arms and gave a swift-although exasperated-nod.

"Si, come on up, Ernesto."

Hector threw the bolt back and walked away from the door, picking up his apple and exchanging a glance with his wife. It took less than a minute for a knock to reach their door, and both Imelda and Hector answered.

"Come in."

The door opened, the light streaming in from the hallway revealing Ernesto De La Cruz, in all his smug glory. Always one for a good impression, he wore a smart suit, decorated with ornate cufflinks. His heavily gelled hair glinted as he moved toward the kitchen table, his hands wrapped around a brown paper bag, which he placed onto the counter.

"Hola, amigos. Wow, the place looks great! How is everybody? Well, I hope?"

Imelda nodded, offering a small smile as she opened the package. Hector slapped Ernesto good-naturedly on the shoulder, to which Ernesto smiled. He turned his attention to Imelda, who pulled out a couple of ripe fruits.

"Japanese apple pears, Ernesto? Doesn't this seem a little...much for a simple entry fee?"

Ernesto waved her off and flashed Coco a toothy smile. Coco returned it before resuming her meal, not at all phased by the sudden visit. 'Uncle Ernesto' came at least once a week, but he only came bearing such extravagant offerings when he had a request.

Today was no different.

Smiling and turning to Imelda and Hector, the former of which had begun placing the fruits into a bowl in the middle of the counter, Ernesto began.

"So, guess what I found for us tonight, Hector?"

Hector raised his eyebrows through a mouthful of apple. Imelda rolled her eyes. Ernesto was unfazed

"The club down on 71st street needs a band to play tonight. It's dance night, so I was thinking some of our more upbeat pieces. How would you feel about getting "un poco loco" tonight?"

Hector thought for a moment, swallowing. He turned to Imelda. They had been planning to have a quiet night at home tonight, maybe unpack a few more boxes. Imelda had been counting on him to be at home, but even she knew that the opportunities Ernesto found were often to good to pass up. She gave him a look, one that he knew all too well. It said, as clear as day,

"Do what you need, but remember your familia. We need you, too."

Hector nodded, then turned to Ernesto and took another bite of apple.

"Yeah, I'll be there. What time?"

Ernesto beamed and clapped Hector on the back, almost causing him to spit out his apple.

"8:30, my place. Bring your guitar. Oh, look at the time. I've got to run. See you tonight Hector!"

With that, Ernesto turned on his heel and left, waving before he strode out of and shut the door. Imelda moved from her spot at the counter to place her head on Hector's shoulder, sighing as she wrapped her arms around his waist.

"I swear, amor, he has you running all over this city."

Turning him around to face her, she put a hand on his cheek and leaned in for a kiss.

"Promise you won't be out too late?"

Hector leaned down to kiss his wife, smiling.

"I promise."

Coco lay in bed, braids spread out on her pillow as she looked up at both of her parents. Imelda sat on her right, lovingly stroking her hair, while Hector stood on her left, white skull guitar in hand as he donned his "performance suit". Imelda bent to kiss her daughter's forehead, stroking her hair once more before standing and saying,

"Buenos Noches, Mi'ija. We'll see you in the morning."

Coco smiled and watched her mother stand, calling goodnight as Imelda kissed her husband and exited the room. She knew what came next, and she didn't want to interrupt the special father-daughter ritual. Hector moved over to the side of Coco's bed, smiling in his special, tender way. He bent to kiss his daughter, lingering for a moment as she reached up to hug his neck. He knew he would be there when she woke up in the morning, to make breakfast and sing to her, but every time he left he couldn't help but feel guilty. Coco didn't care, though. She knew her Papa had special music things to do, and as long as he came home, she would be happy. She giggled in anticipation as Hector slung his guitar across his chest, shifting a bit before smiling at his precious mi'ija and letting his fingers strum the guitar. The familiar tune began to fill the soft silence of the room, and he closed his eyes before he let himself be lost in the song.

"Remember me..."


	2. Heaven and Earth

Hector plodded through the hallway, hands fumbling with the his pocket. He extracted his keys, inserting them into the lock and wincing at the creaking of the hinges as he slipped through the door. How many times had he promised Imelda he would fix that? He kicked off his shoes and slid them into the closet, his jacket swiftly following. His black socked-feet made their way across the loft, placing his guitar case gently against his desk. Turning softly on his heel, he made his way to the staircase, taking care to skip the second and eighth steps. They squeaked. He reached the pile of clothes he had stashed for such an occasion, then plodded to the bathroom. He emerged a few minutes later, pajama pants on and performance clothes in hand, he made his way to his and Imelda's bedroom. He cracked open the door, his slim frame a blessing as he managed to avoid straining the hinges enough to alert a hopefully-sleeping Imelda to his presence. He was not surprised, however, when a sharp voice called from the bed,

"Do you have any idea how late it is?"

Hector sighed, dropped his clothes bundle onto a chair in the corner and made his way to the bed, bending to kiss Imelda, who was propped onto an elbow and staring at him through her hair, which fell loose around her shoulders. She watched him as he crawled into his side of the bed, and shifted to face him. He looked sheepishly up at her from his pillow, reaching up timidly to pull her closer to him.

"I know, mi amor, but Ernesto demanded an encore, and you know how he likes to celebrate afterwards-"

Imelda cut him off with an exasperated sigh, her eyeroll hidden by the darkness of the night around them.

"I swear, he has you hitting up every bar in the city! What if he got you so drunk you couldn't come home? What if you ended up being hit by a car? Caught in a drunken fight? What would Coco and I do? She needs someone here while I'm at work, and if you were gone-"

Her words stopped short when Hector's lips met hers, and despite her anger and tension, she melted. She was just glad that he was home now, safe. They parted, and moved closer to each other, reveling in the sensation of each other's warmth and presence. Hector ran his hands through her hair, breathing in the scent of leather and the perfume he had gotten her for Christmas last year. Ay, Dios, He could stay like this forever.

Neither of them knew when they fell asleep.

Another day, another venue, and Hector wasn't sure he could distinguish between the two anymore. It seemed like every other day was the same-wake up, spend the morning in ignorant bliss with Imelda and Coco, expect Ernesto at lunch, submissively accept whatever offer was thrown his way, receive condescending and exasperated look from Imelda, spend as much time with his familia as he could, tuck Coco in and have his heart melted as they sang together, take his guitar, play a few sets as a lowly guitarist as Ernesto soaked up all the fame, wearily accept an invitation to a bar afterwards to celebrate, come home, apologize to a still-awake Imelda, fall asleep with her in his arms as though nothing else mattered, and repeat.

He couldn't take it anymore.

On one such night, Hector found himself in the same situation as usual; propping himself onto an elbow on the counter with a half-downed beer in his hand, watching through the corner of his eye as Ernesto praised their performance to high heaven and recounted the events of the night.

"-And did you see that wonderful chica in the red dress, amigo? She tracked your every movement! If you're not careful, Imelda might have some competition, eh?"

Hector's eyes widened at this; whether because of the mere notion that anyone other than Imelda could capture his heart as fully or out of fear for the poor woman who managed to anger Imelda, he never knew. Whatever the reason, he made his decision than and there.

"Listen, amigo. I'm sorry to do this, but I'm not sure I want to keep doing this. I'm away from home to much, and Coco needs her father there when Imelda is at work. Besides, I can barely distinguish one performance from another. I think it's time for me to hang up my guitar, so to speak."

Ernesto stopped dead in his tracks, and Hector was slightly unsettled by the shadow that covered his friend's face. The moment passed, and Hector was left reeling as Ernesto lurched forward and grabbed the lapel of his jacket, allowing Hector to catch a whiff of cheap cologne and booze.

"What? Hector, amigo, you can't! You've known me for years, you know I can't write anything for myself! I need your songs, I need your guitar, I...I need you!"

Hector took a moment to regain himself, and although it pained him to see his friend look so lost, he couldn't deny it any longer. He had a duty, an obligation. To Imelda, to Coco, to himself.

He shook Ernesto off and looked him dead in the eye.

"Lo siento, mi amigo. Hate me if you want, but my mind is made up."

He stood, slapping a few dollars onto the counter and slinging his jacket onto his shoulder. If he hurried, he could get home at a decent hour. He would catch Imelda in her workshop and he would tell her the news. She would be shocked, but he could see her face softening and feel her soft kiss as he imagined her eventual acceptance. Before he could leave, however, he was stopped by Ernesto's hand gripping his shoulder tightly. He turned, steeling himself for more begging, but he was taken aback when he was met instead with Ernesto's usual suave face, extending a hand in submission.

"Oh, I could never hate you. If you must go, at least let me send you off with a bang. There's one last venue, two days from now. They've heard of you, and they'd love to have us play. What do you say, one last venue? One last night? One last toast?"

Hector turned his glance towards the door and the night life beyond, then back to Ernesto, who still had a hand extended. In a moment of decision, he took Ernesto's hand and shook it, smiling at his friend.

"I'll do it."

As he predicted, when Hector opened to door, he immediately noticed the sliver of light streaming from his wife's workshop. He dropped the guitar and kicked off his shoes, plodding along the floor until he stopped in front of the door. He could hear softly playing music from inside, probably from the record player that his wife had refused to leave at the thrift store three months ago. He looked to his right, noticing the way the light from the workshop fell on the picture of their family.

Hector loved that picture.

It had been Imelda's idea, back when they had visited Mexico after Coco's third birthday. They had been wearing traditional Mexican garb, Hector in a mariachi outfit that Imelda had found, Imelda in a rich purple dress and Coco on her lap, looking quizzically at the camera as her father placed a hand on her shoulder. In his other hand, he held his guitar, a surprise gift from Imelda at that point, which she had managed to sneak to Mexico for him without his knowing. He had been overjoyed, but he had reminded her that she was the greatest treasure he had ever received.

Well, her and Coco.

Hector turned from the picture-which rested on a basket of marigold blooms-and tip-toed over to the workshop's door. He peaked in, and he could see her work. She was currently embroidering a gorgeous flower pattern onto a pair of floral heels, work she had brought home from her family's shoe making business, one of the only left in New York City. She worked days with her brothers Oscar and Philippe, and she only brought her work home when it required special attention. This pair was for a wedding, and Imelda had decided to add a special touch to the bride's shoes. Hector smiled slightly as he saw her open her mouth, letting the words of the song that was currently playing fall out of her lips.

Hector loved her voice more than anything.

He waited until the song changed to open the door, although he earned nothing more than a swift glance up and a bemused,

"You're home early."

Hector chuckled and moved to take a seat behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and kissing her neck as she pulled the needle through the leather of the heel with expert precision.

"Well, mi amor, I got out sooner than usual."

Silence, and then,

"I told Ernesto I didn't want to continue running all over the city anymore. He'll have to find a new partner."

At this, Imelda put her work down and turned in his arms to face him, the look of dull surprise he had been expecting gracing her features.

"Oh, Hector..."

He smiled, and kissed her softly.

"It's like you always say, mi amor. Family is more important."

Imelda smiled and kissed him back, eyes closed in graceful bliss. She was clearly glad to hear him say that.

Hector broke away first, the first notes of the next song giving him an idea. He stood, walking idly in front of Imelda, smirking. At her inquisitive eyebrow quirk, he gave a small bow and extended a hand.

"Care to dance, mi Corazon?"

Imelda rolled her eyes, but even Hector couldn't ignore the smile that danced on the corners of her mouth. She put the shoes and needle down, wiping her hands on her light blue nightdress and accepting his hand. He pulled her up and close, pulling his best Ernesto impression and reveling in the sensation of her laugh. The first words of the song danced in the air as the pair began to move, expertly, gracefully, happily.

"Ay, de mi Llorona..."

They both knew this song, but more importantly, they knew each other. Imelda danced with precision and grace, while Hector danced with passion and orderly abandon. Her fire matched his beat, and his movements countered her grace perfectly. They had met like this, dancing. Dancing to this song. Dancing and singing and adoring, all before the last notes of the song had finished resonating. Imelda's voice carried over the voice of the record, and Hector felt himself being swept away in the beat of the music and the richness of her voice.

"Que aunque la vida me cueste, Llorona, no dejare de quererte..."

Hector joined her, wiling the meaning of the word to reach her. He danced for her, he sang for her, he played for her.

He lived for her.

Their dancing intensified, the sound of their feet barely touching the ground in their flurry creating the perfect rhythm. The song ended in a flourish, but the dancing took longer. They slowed, but they did not stop. The passionate tango that they had been ensnared in before subdued into a slow waltz, Hector resting his forehead on Imelda's, both breathing heavily and feeling exactly as they had that first night. Imelda raised her eyes to meet Hector's, and was met with nothing but love and tenderness in his big, brown eyes.

She melted.

The question she asked next did not need to be asked, but the words found their way past her lips before she could stop them.

"Do you love me, Hector?"

"Incluso si me cuesta la vida, mi amor. Even if it costs me my life."

All too soon, Hector's last performance with Ernesto came. Imelda had been reluctant to let him go, but she digressed once she remembered that after tonight, he would be all hers. No more distractions.

Hector couldn't keep his mind off of her. All night, he imagined her waiting for him when he came home, wondering how it went and bringing him somewhere quiet where they could revel in the sensation of being in each other's arms. Hector played his best show yet, the passion and love he felt for his family pouring into every note.

There was hardly a dry eye in the crowd after he finished.

Ernesto himself seemed moved by the performance, but Hector could see the soft edge of regret in his posture, in his smile. Hector almost felt sorry for leaving their partnership, but he had made a promise.

And Hector Rivera never breaks his promises.

That night, Ernesto had something special planned for their after party. He brought them to a new bar-a classy one-albeit outside of the normally posh ones they went to in the center of the city. He ordered rounds of Hector's favorite cocktails, and kept his amigo busy with stories of their youth and first days together. Hector tried to be a good companion for his friend-after all, this was their last night performing together-but his thought kept turning to his family. To Coco, to Imelda.

He was almost home.

It was late when he finally decided it was time to go, and he warmly thanked Ernesto for his hospitality and understanding before collecting his coat and guitar case. He was about to leave when he felt Ernesto's hand on his shoulder, and turned to see his friend holding out one last drink.

"Well, if you must go, I'm sending you off with a toast."

Hector glanced at the door once more. He already felt a little woozy, but he figured one last drink wouldn't hurt. He took the glass and raised it with his amigo.

The final toast.

"To our friendship! I would move heaven and earth for you, mi amigo."

Both men raised their glasses, and Hector drank deeply, glad that his friend harbored no ill will. Ernesto finished his off and patted Hector on the back, taking his guitar case from him.

"Here amigo, let me walk you to the subway. It's the least I can do."

Hector nodded and smiled, letting his friend lead him out the door and down the street, Ernesto filling the silence with jokes and stories.

They got about three blocks away before the pain started.

It began small, a seed of discomfort growing from his abdomen outwards. Ernesto led him down an abandoned street, looking sympathetically at his friend's discomfort. Hector tried to brush it off, to smile, but the pain began to spread.

He cried out as his chest felt like it was seizing, and his heart began to seemingly burst from his chest.

Dios, what was wrong with him?

Ernesto rubbed circles into his back and offered explanations of alcohol poisoning as a reason for his discomfort, but Hector did not hear. He was to busy screaming as his lungs roared in protest, his stomach tuned itself inside out in pain and his heart ceased to work all together.

Pain overshadowed fear as his knees gave way and he fell face-first onto the pavement, his last coherent thought before he blacked out being of his wife, who was surely waiting for him, and his daughter, who was waiting for her Papa.

Hector felt himself slipping, and closed his eyes for the last time.


	3. I woke up dead

Hector woke with a start, his chest heaving as he tried to blink the haze out of his eyes. He couldn't remember what had happened at first, and there was a moment of peace, a moment of oblivion.

Then that moment ended.

Through the pounding in his head he could hear Ernesto shouting something in his commanding tone, but he payed him no heed. Hector's head felt lie it was bursting, therefore Ernesto could wait. He struggled to prop himself up onto one elbow, screwing his eyes shut to block out the blinding white light he found himself facing. Running his fingers through his hair, he called out,

"Ernesto, amigo? What happened? How much did I have to-"

He was cut of by a sudden clarity. His head stopped pounding, and he could suddenly hear Ernesto's voice calling over the distant sound of approaching ambulances.

"Please, somebody, anybody, it's my friend, he's..."

Hector could hear the pounding of approaching footsteps, and Hector cocked his head in confusion, eyes still closed. Couldn't Ernesto see that he was right there? That he was standing and fine, albeit a little groggy? He could hear the growing desperation in Ernesto's voice, and he rubbed his eye, eventually blinking and opening them fully.

He wasn't at all prepared for the sights that greeted him.

Ernesto was pacing frantically, looking close to tears, perking at the sound of the ambulances and trying to help two men on the ground, who were hunched over something that seemed to be the sole focus of their attention. Hector looked down at his arms and legs. He was still wearing his 'after-performance-going-to-a-bar' outfit, which consisted of a pair of brown pants, white undershirt, and a brown jacket. He took a few shaky steps towards them, undoubtedly curious to what was so important. He found an opening between the tow men and Ernesto and pushed his way through.

He screamed.

The thing the men were hunched over was Hector's own body.

His DEAD body.

Hector stumbled backwards, chest heaving and looking at his hands, clutching his face. His hands looked the same as always; calloused from playing and slightly scarred from one two many tousles with Pepita, but even when he convinced himself that nothing was wrong, he still saw his corpse lying on the ground. He bent against his better instincts to get another look. His hands were bent at odd angle, as were his legs, but the body had been flipped over to give the men trying to revive him an easier time. They were administering CPR, pounding on Hector's chest in a futile attempt to get something in there working again. Hector could feel nothing, even when he touched the same part of his chest where the responders were applying so much force they should have broken his ribcage.

He just felt cold.

The worst part was the eyes. They had opened them to get a better grasp on what was the matter with the body, but all Hector could see was the emptiness; the cold deadness that had swallowed his once bright and merry brown eyes. They were bloodshot, a clear sign of drunkenness. Dios, he hadn't had that much to drink! It wasn't enough! He hadn't had enough to cause Ernesto to rush over to the ambulance that had just arrived, it wasn't enough to warrant the paramedics to come and take his limp body away on a stretcher, it wasn't enough to...to...

Kill him.

He reached out for Ernesto, reaching out to grab his shoulder and spin him around, demanding answers.

"Ernesto, what in the-AUGH!"

Hector screamed out loud when his hand passed through Ernesto's shoulder, as quickly as though it had been cutting through air, leaving Hector with a tingling sensation and gasping for breath. Dios, was he even breathing? He seemed to just be mocking breathing, a cruel joke considering the circumstances. He turned on his heel, the blinding light that had been streaming into his line of vision since he 'woke up' just adding insult to the injury of his death. He looked directly into the source, but instead of just finding an incessant streetlight, he saw what looked to be a glowing pathway to...Dios, he didn't know where. All he could see was the light, and for the first time since waking up he felt at peace. The light beckoned him, called to him. Words of comfort and sympathy floated into his consciousness, and he could smell...was that his Mama's tamales? He closed his eyes, bliss filling him as he breathed deeply. He was about to take a step forward, ready for this nightmare to be over so he could wake up next to...

Imelda.

He stopped short, pulling his foot back. Dios, he had forgotten! He had forgotten about his amor, his Corazon, and his mi'ija. Dios, Coco and Imelda! They would have to see his dead body, they would have to arrange a funeral, Coco would have to live without her Papa, all because he had been stupid enough to get drunk and die on them! The perked his ears to the sound of the stretcher with his body being lifted into the ambulance, realizing that the time for action was now. He looked back into the light, silently apologizing to whatever force was calling him.

Whatever force he was getting ready to abandon.

In a moment of decision, he turned and sprinted towards the ambulance, darting on just before they closed the doors. He ran into Ernesto, head in his hand as his chest heaved. As Hector sprinted away, he was vaguely aware of the light's instantaneous disappearance, and the crushing finality that accompanied. He didn't have time to dwell on that, now. He sat in the corner of the ambulance, waiting.

Waiting for this all to be made right.

The doctors had proclaimed Hector dead on the spot. Alcohol poisoning. So sorry for your loss. Did he have any family?

Ernesto gave Imelda's name-through strangled sobs, no less-and was lead through a pair of glass doors to be questioned by the police. Hector faltered for a moment, torn between the familiarity of his best friend and the aspect of leaving his body. He took up position in a corner, taking a seat in a plush red chair closest to his body. Choosing not to dwell on how he was actually able to sit, he gave a wayward glance over to his body and sighed. He didn't notice the woman sit in the chair next to hi until she spoke.

"So, what happened to you?"

Hector jumped, whirling around to stare at the woman with wide eyes. She wore a light blue nightgown, which closely resembled an old-fashioned hospital gown. Her hair was loose, and she smiled at Hector, a twinkle in her eyes.

"I said, what happened to you?"

At Hector's silence, she smiled and stood, walking over to the cadaver. She lent forward, and while Hector was expecting her to simply lift the sheet covering the body's head, she continued to lean forward until her face disappeared into the sheet. Hector stared in horrified fascination, watching as the woman stood again and took the seat next to him once more.

"Poisoned, huh? I'm sorry, man. But hey, look at it this way. No more taxes".

She chuckled at her own joke, and Hector wondered how she could figure out that he had died from alcohol poisoning from just looking at his body. Before he could ask, however, her eyes widened as she pointed to an operation room opposite them.

"Hey, check it out! He's not gonna make it. Let's see who comes for this one!"

Hector furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, turning his attention over to the patient on the gurney. He saw the efforts of the doctors become futile as the same glowing lights that came for him come for the man, who's spirit choose to follow them to who-knows-where. He tried to turn to the woman next to him, to ask who she was, to ask what the lights meant, but when he turned his head, she had disappeared.

So much for answers.

He was rocketed out of his contemplation by an all-to familiar voice screaming at the top of her lungs, the slap of shoe against skin, and another voice pleading for mercy.

"Ernesto, HOW DARE YOU! HOW DARE YOU LET THAT IDIOTA DRINK THAT MUCH! HE IS DEAD, AND COCO WILL HAVE TO GROW UP WITHOUT A FATHER! YOU PIG, YOU HIJO DE-"

Hector didn't hear the rest. He was too busy cowering in fear and despair.

Imelda had arrived.

Hector slipped through the loft door before Imelda could close it, still sheepishly waiting for Imelda to turn her fury onto him, even though a meek voice in the back of his mind reminded him that it was impossible.

Still, Hector hadn't seen Imelda angrier.

She had stormed into the hospital and assaulted Ernesto for his carelessness, then stormed into the emergency ward and ripped the sheet off of Hector's body. She had stared silently and stiffly for a moment, then put the sheet back and curtly told the officers that had followed her that yes, this was her former husband. She had listened to the police report with clenched teeth and tight fists, and although Hector had tried to hold her hand to comfort her, to tell her that he was still there and to please stop being angry, his hand and his words had no effect. He followed her home, and he was currently standing in the direct path of her fury, although she was oblivious to her presence. She ripped off her shoes with incredible force, but not as much as she was capable as to not awaken Coco, stripped off her coat, and stood in the middle of the foyer, breathing heavily with clenched fists shaking.

Nothing that had happened that night surprised Hector more than Imelda letting out a strangled sob and collapsing onto the floor.

She sat there, head in her hands as she sobbed, all anger melted away to reveal nothing but vulnerability and grief.

Hector had never seen her like this.

He watched her, afraid to approach her as though it would be possible to scare her. Hector was taken aback by the rasp in her voice when she spoke, tears streaming down her face and the desperate sadness present in every syllable. What surprised him most was the fact that she seemed to be addressing him directly.

"Why, Hector? Why did you have to go and die on me? What am I supposed to do? What am I going to tell Coco?"

Hector took a cautious step forward, then dropped to his knees and began to wrap his arms around her, only to falter and put his hands down when he imagined his limbs going right through her shaking form.

"Why Hector? Why?"

Hector did nothing to keep the tears-the tears he didn't know he could shed-from falling as he knelt next to his wife, helpless and alone.


	4. I Wanted to Forget You

Hector wished he could say the funeral had been the worst part.

He wished that the fact that he had been denied the customary prayers and after-death visits that had been common back in Mexico was he cause of his restlessness.

He wished he could say that Imelda's steely-and slightly shaky-resolve and forced solemnity as his casket was lowered into the ground had been the cause of his sorrow.

He wished that he could say seeing Coco throw marigolds onto his coffin through silent sobs while clutching her mother's hand-Ernesto's hands on their shoulders-had been his one source of post-mortem despair.

He wished that he could say that nothing was worse than coming to grips with his new..existence when he saw his own remains lowered into the ground.

Dios, how he wished.

No, the worst part was being forced to watch Imelda-sharp features stained with the remains of tears shed unwillingly-raise herself from the couch where she had taken refuge for the night, as she was not ready to face the aspect of an empty bed just yet. Being forced to watch her try to plan out what she would tell Coco and attempt to get her own emotions under control in order to remain strong for her daughter.

The worst part was being forced to watch Coco throw herself onto her mother, sobbing when Imelda told her that her Papa was never coming home again, that there had been an accident, that her father had been careless and stupid. Forced to watch Imelda blink away tears-although in vain-determined to be strong for her daughter and not

The worst part was the desperation, the strain in his voice as he called out to her, and the tingle in his hands as they phased through his precious mi'ija when he tried to comfort her, to tell her it was alright.

"Coco, mi'ija, I'm here, it's okay, I'm not gone! I'm right here! Your Papa's here, I'm here! Please mi'ija, PLEASE! I need you, I need you to hear me! Please don't cry! I'm right here, I'm here!"

His voice grew hoarse, his cheeks were stained, yet Coco continued to cry, only the sounds of her own sobs and her mother's raspy breathing reaching her ears.

Hector had crumpled, wishing and praying to whatever deity that chose to listen that he could turn back time, that he could just ease his family's pain.

No reply came, and Hector was left alone, despite the two weeping girls beside him.

That was the worst part.

"Hola Ernesto."

Imelda opened the door, revealing the serious and solemn face of Ernesto. He was wearing a black suit, and he offered a meek and respectful smile to Imelda before entering, a pile of empty boxes in his arms. He placed them on the table, then went to kiss Imelda on the cheeks in greeting. She gave a small smile and accepted, waving him on to take a seat. The table was piled high with items, all of which had belonged to Hector at some point. The man in question-or rather, spirit-was just a mere few feet away, perched on a windowsill and staring at his wife and his amigo. He hadn't seen much of Ernesto since the accident, but he had assumed it was just Ernesto's way of grieving.

"So, ready to get started?"

Imelda nodded and sat, scoffing as Ernesto pulled her chair out for her. Please. Imelda, needing a gentleman to pull out her chair for her?

Fat chance.

Once they started, Hector began to watch intently, slightly surprised the number of his affects that went into the "donate" pile. The "keep" box was a simple shoe box, and it was almost empty.

It was almost as though Imelda was determined to forget about him.

Ernesto held up a pair of concert tickets, ones Hector recognized immediately. Those were the tickets from the concert where he and Imelda met.

"Righteous Brothers, 1983. What's the verdict?"

Imelda took the tickets and looked them over. Hector looked over her shoulder, small smile on his face. He remembered that night perfectly. He had just turned 18, and he met her during one of the slower, more romantic songs. He was bold and felt invincible, so he had bowed and asked her to dance.

After the third time turning him down, she hit him with her shoe.

He couldn't say that he didn't have it coming.

He had laughed through the pain, and walked away cradling is pride as he sung the words of the song to distract himself from the humiliation.

That was, until he had felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Imelda, who offered her hand for a dance.

The rest was history.

Hector smiled, and gave his verdict on the fate of the tickets, although no one could hear.

He said "keep" the same time Imelda said, "Toss".

Hector scoffed, watching as Ernesto shrugged and tossed the tickets into their trash bin.

"Imelda, amor, please! Those tickets were the only thing left from the night we met! Well, save for your shoe. Why are you so determined to forget me?"

Imelda did not hear, but she continued to sort through Hector's possessions, the only occupants of the "keep box" including his wedding ring (so she could throw it out later, as he assumed), his letters home from his trip to Mexico a few years back, and his favorite book of poems from his mother.

That was, until Ernesto reached the songbook and the guitar.

Holding the little red book I question aloft and flipping through it, a smile played on Ernesto's lips.

"Hey Imelda, mind if I-"

He was cut off by Imelda grabbing the book from his hands, fingers running over the worn leather cover with-was that tenderness?-before placing it in the box and shutting the lid.

Ernesto looked shocked and a little annoyed for a second, but one look at Imelda's face shut him up. He tried to take her hand, but she snatched it away, leaving him to give a forced sympathetic smile.

"I know it's hard Imelda, I know, I miss h-"

He was cut off once again, but this time, it was by the sharp screech of Imelda's chair as she stood suddenly, shoebox of 'keep' items in hand. Hector sprang to his feet, arm outstretched as to comfort and assure his wife, however futile the gesture may have been.

"Lo siento, Ernesto, but I have a lot of work to attend to. We'll finish this tomorrow, yes? Please, see yourself out. And thank you for the help."

With that, she marched into her workshop, leaving a dumbstruck Hector and an agitated Ernesto. Out of habit, Hector leaned over to his friend and said,

"Well, can't say I was expecting that."

Before he could realize that his words were left unheard, however, he heard Ernesto mumble,

"She won't miss this"

and stride quickly towards the door, and too late did Hector realize that the object in Ernesto's hand was his prized skull guitar, gifted to him by his wife as a marriage present.

"Hey, wait-"

He was cut off by the slam of the door.

The orange glow of the streetlight beyond the window provided a mystical atmosphere to Imelda's workshop, mixing with the soft yellow of the lamps that adorned the room. Pepita rested in a corner, tail flicking lazily as she dozed. Imelda stitched a new pattern into a pair of cowboy boots, swirls of brown and black creating a whirlwind of care and elegance. The scene was almost picturesque, save for the lanky spirit who had taken refuge in the doorway, legs pressed against his chest as he closed his eyes, just listening to the sound of Imelda's breathing and the periodical ambience of her needle piercing the leather of the boot. The silence was deafening, and Hector thought it would never end.

The slam of fists on wood nearly caused him to fall though the doorframe.

He regained his balance, staring with wide eyes at Imelda, who had rested her head in her hands and let out a sigh. Pepita's ears swiveled, but she did not stir.

"You idiota. You complete and utter idiot".

Hector furrowed his eyebrows and stood, confused. It almost sounded like...

"I've tried so hard. I got rid of your things. I kept working. I didn't pray. Why doesn't it work?"

Hector was certain of it now. He crept over to Imelda, crouching at her side and looking up at her in complete awe and confusion. She was definitely talking to him.

"Why can't I? I wanted to forget you."

Hector's eyes widened slightly, then his face fell as he put his head down. he knew it.

"I want Coco to forget you."

What little hope Hector may have held shattered. No, his mi'ija, his life, she couldn't forget. That would mean he was truly gone.

"But I can't. Dios knows I've tried. All I want to do is forget."

Hector stood, and moved as though to put her arms around her, but pulled away. All he could do was close his eyes. Close his eyes and pretend.

"Please don't forget me, mi amor".

His eyes shot open at the sound of a hiss, and both Hector and Imelda whirled around at the same time, Imelda standing and arming herself with the boot she had been working on. But Pepita wasn't looking at an intruder or a rodent.

Her emerald eyes bore into Hector like a bullet.

He cautiously strode over to her, eyebrows furrowed as he crouched in front of the feline. He stared into her eyes, an intense stare that seemed to be unbreakable.

That was, until Hector blinked and Pepita scampered away, yowling.

Imelda tensed, shoe raised and ready to strike. Neither she or Hector moved. After a moment of careful consideration, she called out,

"Lo juro por Dios, if you are here, I'll..."

Hector's eyes lit up, and he found that he had lost the ability to speak for a moment in his excitement. Yes, he's there, he has been the whole time, finally someone-

Imelda lowered her boot and forcefully shook her head.

"No. That's stupid. Of course not. Of course he is not here."

With that, she returned to her work, oblivious to a wilted Hector, standing in the middle of the workshop, feeling more drained and dejected than ever.

"Believe me, Imelda, I wish I wasn't".


	5. Remember Me

Hector watched from a distance as Coco stirred her cereal, trying to scope out all of the colorful flakes. She smiled as she pushed yet another spoonful into her mouth. Imelda looked up from her newspaper and smiled, taking a bite of toast as she returned to the headlines. Hector moved towards them and jumped onto the counter, swinging his legs and ignoring the tingling feeling when they swung through the table. He knew that Imelda would have fixed him with the familiar stern, yet good-natured stare that she always did if he was alive, but...

Coco finished her cereal and moved to put her dishes in the sink, reaching up on tip-toe in order to reach the edge. Imelda smiled from over her newspaper as she watched her daughter, reaching down to wrap her arms around her when Coco went to hug her before retreating to her room to change for the day. Hector smiled softly as he jumped down. He moved behind Imelda, humming to himself as he read the headlines over Imelda's shoulder. Nothing unusual, so Hector's interest wasn't captured for long. Upon seeing Imelda's eyes widen over a story about a random mugging and murder in an alley, Hector said,

"Honestly, mi amor, you shouldn't read that stuff. It's so...depressing."

Imelda did not respond, simply turning the page after a small head shake. She turned at the sound of giggling, and both she and Hector caught sight of Coco running out of her room, arms outstretch towards Pepita, who was trotting out of her reach. Imelda chuckled and scooped her daughter up, showering her with kisses before setting her down again. Hector smiled at the two, remembering the days when he would have wrapped his arms around the two of them, laughing as Coco would wrap her arms around his neck and Imelda would hum contentedly.

God, how he missed those days.

Imelda slung her purse over her shoulder and took Coco's hand, leading her to the closet to help her with her coat. Hector blinked, confused. Why were they both leaving? Since he...uh...died, he found that the days and nights just blurred together, with no real distinction. With a bit of memory searching, he remembered. Today was the day Imelda promised that she would take Coco into work with her. After all, Coco very well may want to continue in the footsteps of the Riveras before her, and now was as good a time as any to introduce her to the empire her family had built. And besides, she couldn't be left here alone anymore, especially considering that her caretaker was...

Well...

Imelda smiled as she finished buttoning Coco's pink jacket and fixed her own. Hector stood dreamily in the corner, lost in memories of the life he had before.

Dios, he had everything he could have ever wanted. Yet he threw it away. Imelda was right, he was an idiot.

He didn't move until he heard Imelda say,

"All good mi'ija? Alright, let's go!"

Hector snapped out of his contemplation and turned just in time to see Imelda open the door and lead Coco out. HE sprinted towards the door, and his hand reached out to grab Imelda's shoulder...

Just in time for Imelda to shut the door in his face and on his hand.

He jumped back, yelping, but the pain one would expect with getting a door slammed on your hand did not come. Instead, he just stared in awe as his hand as it passed right through the door. Some small part of him wasn't surprised-after all, isn't this what ghosts did? But a much bigger part of him was horrified. Who wouldn't be?

He took a deep breath in. As terrified as he was that he would suddenly be solid again and be stuck in the door forever, he knew that he would have to do this eventually. Closing his eyes, he thrust his hands forward.

He was certainly not expecting that.

He was expecting the usual strange tingling that came with passing through regular objects. This was that feeling magnified. He forced himself to take a step forward, his legs moving mechanically as he kept his hands outstretched. The vague thought of how ridiculous he looked crossed his mind, but he pushed it aside as he continued to move forward. The tingling spread, and Hector just felt numb. HE made the mistake of opening his eyes when the tingling reached his nose, and he was greeted with nothing but a consuming blackness, a void that threatened to swallow him whole. He clenched his teeth and continued. Dios, why was this so hard? If he was a ghost now, shouldn't this come naturally? He persevered, and he could see the light shining through in the other side, he was so close, he was almost there, he...

He was rocketed out of his thought and the door when he could hear a key be inserted into the lock and begin to turn. He put his hands on his knees, gasping. He had no idea who was home; he assumed it was Imelda-maybe because she had forgotten something-but Imelda never forgot anything. And if she did she wouldn't admit it. Still, she hadn't really been herself since his death, so he glanced at the door and waited to see her face, which would undoubtedly be inched in annoyance, Coco hanging onto her hand.

He wasn't expecting Ernesto's face to be the one peeking behind the door.

Hector stood, dumbstruck, as Ernesto opened the door, eyes narrowed as he looked around the seemingly empty apartment. Hector regained what was left of his composure and stood, walking forward until he was face to face with Ernesto. He had to admit, seeing Ernesto here at this time of day was strange, although not strange enough to cause any real alarm. Hector cocked his head to the side and studied his friend's face.

"Ernesto, why are you here? Did you forget-"

He managed to sidestep just in time in order to avoid having Ernesto step through him. Ernesto moved purposefully forward, his brows furrowed in concentration. Hector followed him, more curious than anything. Ernesto stayed silent, moving towards the closet where Imelda had stored the "keep" box, although Hector continued to add his commentary to no one in particular.

"What could you need in there, Ernesto? You already took my guitar-which Imelda didn't seem to notice-but now what? You want my wedding ring, too?"

Ernesto continued to walk towards the closet, pulling the door open and propping the box on his knee. He rummaged through, and before Hector could comment, he pulled out what he was looking for with a triumphant snort.

Hector's songbook.

Ernesto closed the box and put it back in the closet, closing the door and making his way out, smirking and flipping through the book. Hector was speechless, looking over his amigo's shoulder as he looked at the loopy scrawl that greeted him at every page. Why on Earth would Ernesto need his songbook? Before he could inquire, however, Ernesto raised his head and spoke-seemingly to the air-although Hector couldn't help but feel the that the blunt of his words were directed at him.

"You know, I wish you had had the songbook on you when you died. It would have made all of this a lot easier."

Hector's brows furrowed, and he was so caught up in his contemplation that he barely registered the slam of the door as Ernesto exited.

He was still there when Imelda and Coco came back home.

"Goodnight, mi'ija. I'm glad you enjoyed coming into work with me today."

Imelda smiled down at Coco, who was all tucked into bed. Her braids hung by her ears, and she looked lovingly up at her mother as Imelda bent down to kiss her.

"Si Mama, it was so fun! It was nice to see Tio Phillipe and Tio Oscar."

Imelda smiled as she stroked Coco's hair.

"Yes, and they were very happy to see you. They can't wait for you to come back."

Coco hummed in response and rolled over, curling in on herself as Imelda stood, smiling. She walked out of the room, and on the way towards the door, she passed Hector, who was leaned in the corner with his arms crossed, smile on his face. Imelda exited, and he made his way over to Coco's bedside, crouching and looking at curled-up form of his little girl. This was the first bedtime he had attended since his death, and he still felt the sting of regret as he remembered-once again-that he wouldn't be able to be there for her when she needed it. At least he could be there to watch over her.

At least he could watch his mi'ija grow up.

Suddenly, Coco raised her head from her pillow, and propped herself up onto her arm.

"Okay Papa, I'm ready now."

Hector's eyebrows furrowed, and he leaned forward. What was she saying? What did she want him to do? A spark of hope ignited in his chest. Could she see him? Did she know he was there? Before he would say anything, however, Coco's voice cut through his thoughts.

"Sing for me, Papa. Please."

Hector sat dumbstruck for a second, then gave a soft smile. His mi'ija wanted him to sing for her. Like he always did. Well, despite the fact that they existed on entirely different plains, he obliged.

"Anything for you, mi'ija."

He began, his voice growing in strength as he sang. Even if she could not hear, he would sing. He would sing for her, and he would do so until he faded from existence.

"Know that I'm with you the only way that I can be...Until you're in my arms again..."

Hector sang, and he swept himself into the song. He put everything he had into the song-everything he wished he could say to Coco, every apology, every sonnet of love-everything he had bottled up inside. He got so caught up in the song that he did not notice a small voice, unsure at first but growing, join his.

"Remember me..."

Hector finally heard the voice, and looked around in disbelief.

No, it couldn't be. It's not possi-

His eyes landed on Coco, little Coco, who was staring up with the biggest eyes full of wonder and happiness that Hector had ever seen. He stared at her, waiting. Waiting for the moment to end, waiting for Coco to shake her head and go back to sleep, dismissing it all as a dream.

But that moment did not come.

Instead, Coco continued to stare directly at him, little eyes wide and shining and boring right into his. She raised her arms, smiled, and said, in the sweetest voice Hector had ever heard,

"Papa!"


	6. What I wouldn't give

Hector shook his head, eyes closed. If this was a weird dream he wanted to wake up now. He wanted to avoid the pain that would come with seeing Coco's face fall as she saw there was no one in front of her. He was certain that he would open his eyes to see her still cuddled in bed, asleep as though nothing had happened. His heart sank, but he knew it had to be done. He opened his eyes. It was a dream, there was no way, it was-

He looked down to see that Coco had moved to the edge of the bed, reaching out to him and smiling through a few stray tears.

"Mi'ija? Can you...can you see me? Can you hear me?"

Coco nodded and giggled as her Papa's eyes lit up. He ran a hair through his hair, breathing havily through a disbelieving smile. He took a deep breath, an suddenly,

"AYYYYYYYY-YYYYYYA!"

He let out his most passionate grito, jumping up and down and pumping his fists, Coco's giggles serving as the sweetest music he had ever heard. He physically had to restrain himself from reaching out and scooping her up, because even in the elation of this moment he didn't think he would be able to handle the way his daughter's face would fall as she passed right trough him. He opted instead to just stare at her, tears streaming down both of their faces.

"Oh, gracias a dios. Finially, oh, thank God!"

After a moment of trying to suppress his tears, he hovered his hand over Coco's cheek and whispered, in a voice hoarse from happiness and crying,

"I've missed you so much, mi Corazon. So, so much."

Coco smiled and wiped at her eyes.

"I missed you too, Papa! Why did you go away?"

Hector looked down for a moment and moved his hand away.

"Lo siento mi amor. I had to. And I'm not all here, either. Mama told you what happened to me. I...I died. I'm dead. But I'm a ghost now. Remember that cartoon you used to watch when you were little? Casper? I'm like him now, but cooler."

Coco's eyes lit up, and she held out a hand.

"That means I can't touch you now. See?"

Hector moved to hold Coco's hand, but he opted instead to wiggle his fingers over her palm. As expected, they passed through her hand, but instead of pulling away in disgust as Hector had predicted, Coco giggled and tried to grab her father's hand, giggles turning into full-on laughter as she watched her hand pass through her father's. Hector smiled, eyes full of tenderness. Of course Coco would be able to see his current situation as a good thing. Of course she would be the one to turn his situation into a good thing.

Oh, how he loved her.

He also knew it was past her bedtime. And even though he was dead, he still had to be a good father.

He put his hand down and closed his eyes, feeling truly happy for the first time since his death. As much as he hated to do this, and as scared as he was that when Coco woke up this would all disappear, he still had a job to do. And that's all he could ask for. And even if this was a dream, at least they both had these few moments of happiness to hold onto. He pointed to her pillow and smiled, and Coco got the message and curled back up under her covers. Hector stood and planted a phantom kiss on her forehead, smiling down at his little mi'ija.

"You have to get some sleep now, mi'ija. I'll see you in the morning, okay? Te amo, mi Corazon. I love you, so much. Goodnight."

Coco smiled and mumbled her reply, leaving Hector to watch her chest rise and fall.

Dios, how he loved her.

He closed his eyes and walked through the door as quickly as possible, ignoring the numbness that he was left with. He turned into the empty foyer, giving a nod to Pepita, who had stopped halfway up the stairs to glare at him. Nice to see she hadn't changed at all. He looked out the window onto the street below, not really comprehending the few people still returning from late-night endeavors. He didn't care, that is, until he saw Ernesto's familiar white jacket pass underneath him. Ernesto stopped in front of the door of the building, as if making a quick decision. Deciding whatever it was wasn't worth it, he continued on. Hector recalled his words from earlier.

"You know, I wish you had had the songbook on you when you died. It would have made this a whole lot easier."

Hector thought about this, and in a moment of quick decision, he sprinted towards the entryway, and jumped right through the door.

He didn't have any time to think over his victory.

He was going to get to the bottom of this.

Hector ducked through the crowded subway, trying his hardest to avoid walking through people. Although it was mostly pointless, he still couldn't get used to the feeling of knowing that someone is walking through your abdomen and having no clue about it. Ernesto seemed to have just gotten home from a bar. Hector could just smell the alcohol and fear of bad decisions rolling off of him. Ernesto stopped to wait for a train, Hector by his side. The train pulled up, and while Ernesto took a seat, the aspect of somebody sitting IN Hector was not very desirable, so he opted to stand. He looked at Ernesto-lines of grief and guilt etching his face-and wondered once again why his friend decided to steal his songbook. He was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't notice the small man in the corner take what appeared to be a ghostly copy of a guitar from a young musician sitting across the car. Hector's eyes were drawn to the spirit copy, and his legs led him to the man without Hector's true consent. Before he knew it, he stood in front of the man-who Hector assumed to be another ghost-and asked,

"How did you do that?"

The man responded by throwing the guitar across the car and lunging at Hector. Hector just had time to yelp before he fell backwards, the smaller ghost on top of him, pummeling him. Despite Hector's superior height and stamina, the little ghost fought with a passion that Hector hadn't seen before.

This was the ghost's territory, and Hector was an intruder.

Through the blows, Hector managed to get a good view of the ghost who was currently pushing him towards the other end of the train. He had a very square, strong-set jaw and a few teeth poking out, one eye swollen shut and a very unkempt patch of stubble across his chin.

Not that any of this kept Hector from getting pushed into the connecting cable of the train, and Hector's protests did not stop the other ghost from breaking he glass of the window, and screaming out,

"Get out! This train is MINE! GET OUT!"

Hector didn't need to be told twice. Despite his awe that the ghost had managed to interact with and break something physical, he did not want to endure another tangle.

It was his stop, anyway.

Hector followed Ernesto down his street, sidestepping passerby and continuing to contemplate what he witnessed during his subway ride. Ernesto arrived at his apartment, taking out his key and checking his mail. Hector slipped through the door before Ernesto could close it, waiting for his friend to let him into his apartment.

Ernesto's apartment very much reflected the tastes of the owner, down to the simple white walls and the hidden liquor cabinet that Hector had rifled through many times. He followed Ernesto into his bedroom, sitting in a chair in the corner and looking around. Ernesto sank into his bed with a huff, taking a swig from the bottle of unknown liquor on his bedside table.

Imelda would have been appalled.

Ernesto pulled something out of his back pocket, something Hector recognized immediately as his songbook. Ernesto flipped through it, chuckling when he reached the end and took a swig. He spoke, once again to the air, but his words seemed to bore a hole into Hector's mind.

"Why did you have to want to go home, Hector? I would have left you alone. I just needed your songs. Not you. I needed your guitar, I needed your songs, and I needed you out of the way."

Hector's heart sank, and he felt a sensation similar to what he credited to being shot. Ernesto...no. It couldn't be. He wouldn't. He was Hector's amigo, his brother, they had been friends for years. There was no way he would have...

Ernesto's next words struck Hector with the weight of a thousand trains, and he was left winded and furious, sitting paralyzed in Ernesto's apartment and feeling angrier than he had in either life or death.

"And that's why I killed you."


	7. Seize your Moment

Hector stood in front of the door to his apartment, head down. He raised his eyes to the heavens, running a hand through his hair. He was drained from screaming at Ernesto. His words still rang through Hector's ears.

"That's why I killed you."

Hector had been left speechless for a few moments, letting his friend's words sink into his bones, filling in the emptiness that had occupied him since his death.

Filling him with fury.

He had flown at Ernesto, flailing and punching and kicking and cursing Ernesto's name to every Dio he could think of. He had never been a violent man. Never picked a fight, never tried to prove his dominance.

Ernesto had taken everything from him. Including his peaceful nature.

He screamed himself hoarse, and although he could feel his fists making no impact, he still fought. He fought for his life, for his past. It was as though he was gaining purpose, regaining a kind of life with each blow.

He resigned, panting. He looked his friend over, and saw, as though for the first time, the way he held the songbook like it was rightfully his, the harsh lines cut into his temple when he tried to decipher Hector's handwriting, and the tightness of his jaw when he wrote a note or two.

He was still continuing to destroy what was left of Hector's life, and he felt no remorse.

If Hector could have been sick, he would have been.

Hector had stood, glaring at his friend, and walked out of Ernesto's apartment and towards his own. He didn't feel like dealing with the subway ghost, although he doubted anything could hurt him now.

And thus he found himself trudging through the city, the lights of early morning brimming the buildings of the city in rosy halos.

The world continued to turn and the sun continued to rise, despite it all.

Hector found it poetic.

He made his way home, and took a deep breath before heading through the door, barely flinching at the tingling. He was getting used to this now. Any other time he would have been proud of his new mastery of his ghost powers.

But not now, nothing really mattered now.

Or at least, he thought so.

Until he heard an excited,

"Papa!"

Hector turned, and saw Coco running towards him, arms out as she ran in for a hug. Hector forgot himself for a moment and crouched to receive her, only to wrap his arms around air as she ran right through him. He spun around, horrified at what Coco would think, but she simply smiled and put her hand though his abdomen, giggling.

"Oh yeah. I forgot."

Hector smiled and looked down at her hand, longing to hold her in his arms.

"Why are you up so early, mi'ija? Shouldn't you still be asleep?"

Coco smiled and waved her hand around, giggling at the cold feeling of her Papa's new form.

"I wanted to see you again. I couldn't sleep. I wanted to make sure it wasn't a dream."

She said it like it was the simplest thing in the world, but Hector could feel his heart soar. She was here, she could still see him.

Maybe everything wasn't pointless after all.

She pulled her hand away, looking up at the tired face of her father. She looked as though she was about to reach up and touch him, but she jerked her hand back at the sound of footsteps.

"Coco, amor, what are you doing up? It's early, you should still be in bed!"

Coco looked at Hector, eyes flitting to where her mother's voice had just come from. Imelda wasn't out of the bedroom yet, but Hector could hear the shuffling that meant she was on her way down. Before he had time to make any decisions, Imelda emerged, purple nightgown flapping around her ankles as she tread down the stairs, Pepita following at her heels. The cat threw Hector a haughty glace, but Hector merely smiled at the cat. He knew that Pepita kept Imelda company in the bed now-making sure that she didn't feel too lonely at night-and for all their quarrels in the past, he was happy that the cat was there.

She was a true guardian, indeed.

Imelda bent to hug her daughter, and Hector side-stepped swiftly out of the way.

He was getting good at avoiding people.

Imelda picked up Coco and brought her to the couch, the whole time leaving Coco to stare at Hector over her mother's shoulder. When he was out of her sight, Coco made the mistake of shouting,

"Papa!"

Imelda froze in her tracks, her grip on Coco tightening.

"What, mi'ija?"

Coco turned to her mother, and said, as though it was obvious,

"You took me away from Papa. He's in the other room."

Imelda set her daughter down on the couch and stared at her.

"Wha-"

Hector could sense the disbelief and fury bubbling up in Imelda, but he also saw an opportunity. He sprinted into the room, stopping just behind Imelda as Coco pointed.

"He's right behind you, Mama. Right there."

Imelda spun around, eyes furrowed in disbelief and shock but movements electrified by anger. Her eyes searched the area where Coco was pointing, and the flicker of hope that had lighted in Hector's chest was extinguished instantly when she turned back around to glare at her daughter.

"Socorro Rivera, you listen to me. Your father is dead, and there is no way-"

She was cut off by Hector, who cried out,

"Imelda, no! I'm here, I promise! She's telling the truth!"

Coco looked back up at her mother and relayed the message.

"He says that he's there. I'm telling the truth."

Imelda sputtered, for once at a loss for words.

And Hector got an idea.

"Mi'ija, tell her that she got her nightgown from that department store we ran into on the way back from seeing that Broadway play about the ugly guy, when we got rained out. Please."

Coco looked up at her mother-stepping into the eye of a brewing storm-and repeated Hector's words.

Imelda looked down at her dress, and Hector could tell she was replaying the events in her mind, and although she seemed to waver, she held firm.

"Now, you listen here, Coco.."

Hector jumped in again, trying to get Imelda to acknowledge him in some way, growing more desperate by the minute.

"Tell her that she keeps an old Righteous Brothers Vinyl under the bed, one she only listens to when she feels she needs to cry."

Once Coco was done, Imelda looked close to tears herself, although Hector couldn't tell if they stemmed from anger or grief.

"How are..."

"Mi'ija, tell her...tell her that she talked to me. The other night. She said she wanted to forget me, to make you forget me. And tell her that I love her. And that I always will."

Coco relayed this one with a little more reluctance, and just a hint of remorse.

"...and he says he loves you. And that he always will."

Imelda had given up trying to reason this away. She just stood there, eyes cast downwards and fists loosely clenched. She looked like she was going to take a seat, to listen to what her daughter had to say. Hector stood next to her, and waited.

Imelda opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the intercom buzzing and the ringing of a familiar voice.

"Hola Imelda! Can I come in?"

Ernesto was here.


	8. You Rat

Hector stared, anger bubbling up inside of him as he saw Ernesto walk into his apartment, wearing his usual sleazy smile and smart suit. Ernesto walked towards Imelda, arms open and smile widening.

"Ah, Imelda, you look wonderful!"

Imelda raised an eyebrow as Ernesto gave her the usual greeting peck.

"I'm only wearing a nightgown, Ernesto."

Ernesto merely shrugged and moved away, smiling at Coco, who just gave a small wave. Her eyes were trained on her father, who stood in the corner with his fists clenched.

Had Ernesto always hung on Imelda like that?

Imelda went and picked up Coco, kissing her on the cheek before setting her down again.

"Coco, amor, could you go get dressed and play in your room until Tio Ernesto and I are done talking?"

Coco nodded, knowing it was worthless to argue with her mother. She threw one last glance at her father-who offered the softest smile he could despite his anger-and turned and skipped back to her room, humming.

Imelda smiled after her and motioned Ernesto to follow her into the kitchen, where she began to make two cups of coffee. Placing Ernesto's cup in front of him, she leaned forward on the counter. Hector had followed them over, and he was now staring at Ernesto with a glare that surely would have killed him if Hector was not already dead.

And whose fault was that?

Ernesto raised his mug to Imelda and took a sip, wiping his moth with a napkin as Imelda fixed him with a inquisitive glance.

"So, why have you come here so early, Ernesto? Usually you would have at least given me the common courtesy of being fully dressed before stopping by."

Ernesto chuckled, a sound that sent chills and a fresh wave of fury over Hector. Dios, how dare he sit there and talk to her, laugh with her, speak with her?

Once again, the living were completely oblivious to his presence, and Ernesto leaned forward on his elbows and smiled at Imelda.

God, Hector hated that smile.

"I just wanted to check up on you, Imelda, my darling. Just wanted to see if you and Coco are still doing okay. You've both been through so much, and I worry about you."

Imelda raised an eyebrow, but Hector could still see the slight catch of her breath in her chest when Ernesto brought up the subject. Nevertheless, she answered, voice as calm and cool as ever.

"Well, that's sweet of you Ernesto, but we're doing just fine. I'm still working and Coco is happy and healthy, so we don't need anything else. We never did."

Hector had been about to take a step towards her, but her words had stopped him dead in his tracks and caused his non-existent breath to catch in his chest.

"We never did."

'You need ME' he thought. 'You need me. I need you. Dios, why can't you see that? Why can't you see me?'

Imelda remained oblivious, and Hector felt the memory of his heart clench.

Ernesto took another sip of coffee, and Imelda rolled her eyes.

"Although, I do think it's getting hard for Coco. In fact, earlier she was saying that Hector was in the room! That he was behind me! Ay, pobrecito nina."

Hector looked up, horrified. No, no, no no no no. She dismissed it that easily? She thought it was just Coco hallucinating? No, no no no. He was here, he was he was right here. He wanted to scream, to make her hear, to make her see.

I'M HERE! IMELDA, I'M RIGHT HERE!

But he knew she would not hear.

Dios, make it stop.

Please.

Hector was so caught up in Imelda's disbelief that he missed the split second of terrified contemplation cross Ernesto's face. If circumstances were different, Hector would have found comfort in Ernesto's clear discomfort.

But not today.

The moment ended in a flash, and Ernesto was back to his usual suave self.

"Oh, poor girl. Hector's death must be so hard for her. I can't imagine what it would be like to grow up without a father."

Hector couldn't help himself. He swung his fist, once, twice, through Ernesto's head, making no impact and failing to make him notice him. He could feel the screams getting ready to burst from his chest. Ernesto was surely mocking him now. He must know that Hector was her, and that he was boiling over with rage. He wanted to scream, he wanted to knock his favorite music note mug out of Ernesto's hands and scream in his face,

"SHE WOULDN'T HAVE TO IF YOU HADN'T DECIDED TO MURDER ME! Why! Why did you do this to them!? They didn't deserve it!"

Only after he had finished punching and was panting did Hector find the strength to whisper,

"I didn't deserve it."

Imelda looked down at herself and sighed, realizing that she was still in her nightgown.

"Perdon, Ernesto, but I should go change. Stay put."

She left, Pepita casting a defensive glare at both Hector and Ernesto as she lept lightly down from her perch on the drier to follow Imelda upstairs. Once she was gone, Ernesto's eyes flitted nervously around the apartment. Hector saw and smirked, knowing exactly why his friend was so cautious.

"Yeah, that's right. You brought this upon yourself, you hijo de pu-"

He was cut off by Ernesto dumping the entire contents of his coffee mug on his clean white shirt, and screaming out.

"AHHH! OUCH!"

Hector looked up, surprised at the sudden outburst. Both he and Ernesto could hear Imelda rush down from upstairs, shirt hanging off of her shoulder and hair loose.

"Ernesto, que pasa? What happened?"

Ernesto tried his best to look guilty and sheepish, and to hi credit he was a decent actor.

"My elbow slipped and I spilled coffee on myself. I can't believe this happened."

Imelda looked skeptical for a second, then grabbed a towel from across the counter and handed it to Ernesto.

Who promptly discarded it in favor of simply taking his shirt off instead.

He threw his shirt right through Hector-who was standing speechless and fuming-and onto a close by chair. He tried his best to look dejected.

"I really liked that shirt."

Imelda had decided that she was having none of his acts and moved to go away, only to be stopped by Ernesto forcefully grabbing her hand and leaning in for a kiss.

Hector exploded.

He didn't get time to see if his lips even connected with Imelda's, or her reaction, because he was too busy launching himself at Ernesto, feeling surprisingly weightless as he sailed through the air. He flew right through Ernesto and Imelda, but in his anger, he felt his fingertips brush the mug Ernesto had been drinking out of-the music note one Imelda had gotten him last Christmas-and knock it off the counter, where it shattered on the floor.

The sound of the mug smashing had stopped Ernesto dead in his tracks, only to have the air ring out with a resounding

SLAP!

as Imelda smacked him across the jaw.

Hard.

Ernesto looked at her with a rage, but his was quickly overshadowed by hers, as she got up, threw his shirt at him, and said,

"Leave."

Her voice was cold and venomous, and Ernesto slinked out of the door, holding his pride and his ruined shirt in his hands.

Hector did not notice him leave, as he was too busy trying to knock over Imelda's mug.

Come on, come on...

The door slammed and drew Hector's attention to Imelda, who was staring at the mug on the ground.

Staring.

And thinking.

Add Ditto to collections Collection name(s): Submit Cancel

Bookmark

Bookmark

Ishouldbestudying7, save a bookmark!

Write Comments

Notes

The creator's summary is added automatically. Plain text with limited HTML ?

5000 characters left

Your tags

The creator's tags are added automatically.

Comma separated, 100 characters per tag

Add to collections

Choose Type and Post

Private bookmark Rec

Default

Low Vision Default

Reversi

Snow Blue


	9. You have to Earn it

Imelda brushed off her skirt, put the mugs in the sink. She was still fuming from the incident, but in typical Imelda fashion, she was far to proud to show how much Ernesto's advance had ruffled her feathers. She took a towel and bent to take care of the shattered pieces of mug that lay scattered next to the counter, but stopped in er tracks and straightened to examine them.

Good thing, too. She had ben reaching right through Hector's abdomen.

She stared at the mug, wondering. She hadn't seen any part of her or Ernesto knock it over, and Pepita was nowhere close...

But then again, she had been a little to preoccupied to notice much.

Still...

Hector stared, waiting. He could see the spark of thought in her eyes, and it looked as though she was considering...

Imelda shook her head, driving all contemplations out of her mind and consequently shattering all hopes Hector had held onto.

Of course not.

She reached through Hector-who was too dejected and heartbroken to step out of the way-and picked up and threw away the shards of mug, and one of the only remaining pieces of Hector left.

He felt as broken as the mug.

Imelda ran her fingers through her hair and let out an exasperated breath, then turned to go get Coco, who had been staying obediently in her room. Hector made a move as if to follow her, but stopped himself. She clearly didn't want him around. Instead, he turned to a table in the corner, where a basket of marigold flowers lay. Their scent and color was intoxicating, but he forced the thoughts out of his mind as he tried to gather all of his strength. He could hear Imelda laughing in he other room, and he could just make out Coco's squeals of delight.

He wished he could join them, but he had bigger matters to attend to.

He swiped his hand through the basket as hard as he could manage, but to no avail. Not a single petal quivered as his hand sailed through the blooms. He tried again, with a fist, with his eyes closed, picturing Ernesto, but nothing. He was panting now, not physically tired but annoyed. He heard a door open behind him, and Coco came barreling out of her room, one braid still undone as she ran to her Papa. Hector smiled at her and bent down, longing more than anything to reach up and cup his hand to her cheek, to help brush and braid her hair, to..to..

To be there. Alive.

Coco didn't seem to mind though, as she took advantage of the time that she had to tell Hector,

"Mama is cleaning my room, so I wanted to say hi without her getting angry."

She cocked her head out of curiosity and inquired,

"What are you doing?"

Hector paused, trying to come up with a logical reason for his actions.

"Mi'ija, I was just..."

He was just what? Trying to push over the flowers so he could convince a still skeptical Imelda of his presence? Trying to prove that he could still interact with the physical world? Trying to be like-

Wait.

Hector thought fast, perking at the sound of Imelda's voice echoing through the loft.

"Coco? Mi'ija, get back here!"

A chuckle, and then,

"I haven't even finished your other braid yet!"

Coco looked back at her father, questioning. As an answer, he bent and planted another kiss that neither of them could feel on her forehead, looking her in the eyes.

"You go to your Mama. Don't tell her about me, she'll just get mad. There's some things I have to do, okay? I'll be back soon, okay mi'ija? Te amo mucho, chica. I love you so much." He stood and began sprinting towards the door, calling over his shoulder,

"Be good!"

Coco watched her father run right through the door and disappear.

Hector sprinted through the streets, running in between cars when the sidewalk traffic got to be too much. He felt weightless-probably because he was-and he was amazed at how far and fast he could run, now that he didn't have a physical body to weigh him down. He ran through alleyways and carts, people and tourists, until he found his way to the subway entrance. He jogged down the stairs, looking back and forth for something specific that he couldn't seem to find. No one payed him any mind, but Hector was to pre-occupied to notice or care. He stopped at the edge of the rail, leaning forward when a train approached and bracing for impact. He wasn't surprised when none came, but it took him a second to get used to the disorienting feeling of having his feet planted on the platform but his torso inside a moving train. He looked around, and when he couldn't find what he wanted, he pushed himself forward, into the train and onto a passing one.

He umped from train to train, looking, searching, but didn't find what he was looking for until he had almost given up hope. He was running through a train, and it wasn't until the last car that he spotted him.

The ghost from earlier.

He was standing behind the last seat, looking over the shoulder of a man reading the paper. He still looked as small and stout as before, but Hector knew how dangerous he could really be. The 'spirit copy' of the guitar he had made earlier lay forgotten on the floor. Hector mustered up his courage and took a breath in.

"Hey!"

The other ghost's head whipped around so fast that Hector assumed that he would have gotten whiplash if he was still alive. The ghost's eyes narrowed at the sight of Hector, and he took one threatening step forward, fists clenched.

"Get off my train!"

Hector swallowed, his fists loosely balled in nerves. He stood his ground. He needed this.

"No. I'm not leaving until you teach me how to move things."

The ghost seemed taken aback, but he started to stalk down the isles towards Hector, knocking things out of people's hands as he went.

"Get off!"

Once again, Hector continued to stand his ground, looking down at the ghost as he moved closer. He was almost upon him now, and Hector could see the fury in his eyes. Suddenly, without warning, the other ghost lunged at him.

But Hector was prepared.

He sprang into the air as the ghost barreled towards him, using his new weightlessness to his advantage. He rolled gracelessly over and used the other ghost's shock to seize the opportunity to grab the discarded spirit guitar. The ghost snarled and turned again, but stopped dead in his tracks when Hector expertly began to pluck out a tune. The notes flew through the air, and the other ghost looked strangely at Hector. Seeing his chance, he stopped and spoke.

"Please, teach me."

The ghost looked at him, then crossed his arm, and said,

"Finish the song first."

Hector looked confused, so the ghost elaborated.

"You want my help, you have to EARN it. Now come on. Keep playing."

Hector swallowed and nodded, letting his nerves float away with each vibration of the guitar strings.

"Well, everyone knows Juanita..."

"From your gut, like I told you."

The other ghost (who had introduced himself as Chicharron) was pacing along the empty platform, keeping a watchful eye on Hector, who was currently crouched on the floor of the subway platform, attempting to flick a bottle cap. The ghost had reminded him that he had no more body; that everything he did had to be thought about, and how everything about his existence now depended on his mind.

What a comforting thought.

He tried once more to flick the bottle cap, only to have his finger pass through as though the bottlecap was made of air, when it was, in fact, the other way around. Chicharron chuckled and bent next to Hector, flicking the bottlecap with ease.

"Come on, kid. What else you got?"

Hector sat up and ran a hand through his hair, letting his frustrations out in a breath.

"Nothing, apparently. Why can't I do this?"

Chicharron looked thoughtful, then turned to Hector.

"Why you want to learn this, anyway? No one is as insistent as you without a reason.

Hector exhaled.

"I guess...I'm doing this for my family. They need me. I need them."

Chicharron snorted and turned away, pointing at an old can on the corner. Hector moved over to it an began trying to kick it, just barely avoiding loosing his balance and falling.

"You need to get all of your emotions into a ball, then let it explode out. Big help you are to your family if you can't touch anything in their world."

Hector fumed, and tried harder. He had to do this. For Imelda, for...

For Coco.

Chicharron continued to talk through all of Hector's attempts.

"You know, I bet the don't even miss you."

Hector kicked the can again, harder.

"I'm sure they've already found someone else..."

And image of Ernesto popped into Hector's mind, and he kicked harder.

Did he just see it twitch?

Chicharron would not let up.

"And I'm sure they're just going about their lives, not caring, not missing you. You know what, I bet they're glad you're-"

CLANG!

Hector's foot collided with the can, sending it flying right through Chicharron's head. Chicharron watched it bounce onto the rail, then turned back to Hector, smirking.

"Not bad kid. See, that's the key. Your family. Think of them. Do this for them."

Hector beamed, and began to move onto other items in the subway, honing and shaping his new skill, until the fiery light of sunset began to seep into the platform. Having just successfully sent an old shoe flying off a trashcan, Hector turned back to Chicharron.

"Thank you. For everything. I won't forget this."

Chicharron smiled, and stepped onto the edge of the rail as the sound of a train approached. He turned to Hector, and before he re-claimed his car, he said,

"Thanks for the song."

And he was gone.

Hector smiled and began to walk away, whistling and kicking things as he went. He was going to do this. He had to.

He had a mission, a purpose, and he wasn't going to fail now.


	10. Papa?

Hector skipped through the streets of New York, giddily tripping over his own feet in his excitement. He could touch things now, he could help!

He could finally hug Coco, kiss Imelda, and make things right.

Finally, finally, things were going right.

Thank Dios.

He stuck his hands in his pockets and continued to whistle, different melodies and harmonies blending in his mind in his elation. The streets were darkening, only to be illuminated by the colorful neon signs and apartment lights. He kicked a discarded can and flicked a small bottle cap, delighted each time he heard the 'clang' of tin against pavement, or the metallic scraping of a rolling coin. He wasn't paying attention to where he was going, just reveling in his new-found ability. By the time he looked up, he was staring at the front door of Ernesto's apartment.

Hmmm...

Hector walked through the front door of the lobby and joined the crowd in the elevator, whistling and rocking on the balls of his feet. Leaning over to an old lady next to the wall, she said,

"Lovely weather we're having, isn't it? Just on my way to visit a friend. You?"

He grinned from ear to ear at her blank stare forward, and put his hands behind his head and waited for his stop. Upon reaching Ernesto's floor, he saluted to the lady (who shifted her bag of groceries on her arm, oblivious), and headed down the hall, still whistling. He stopped in front of Ernesto's door, leaning his torso through the door. He could see Ernesto sitting on the couch, phone in hand. He was wearing a simple white, wrinkled undershirt and his black business pants. He had clearly just gotten home.

Hector leaned back out of the door, grinning. He raised his fist and knocked on the door, reveling in the pounds that resounded in the air. He could hear Ernesto get up and stretch, coming to open the door. He opened it and stared directly through Hector, the confusion on his face only deepening when he saw that no one was there.

Hector wasn't going to pretend that he didn't enjoy it.

"Hello? Who's there?"

Hector put a hand to his phantom heart in mock hurt.

"Why, amigo, can't you see me?"

He chuckled at Ernesto's continuous oblivious confusion. Hector sidestepped Ernesto-who was stepping out into the hallway to get a better look-and threw over his shoulder,

"Well, I guess I'll just let myself in."

Ernesto closed the door behind him, cursing those "estupido ninos" under his breath and taking a sip from the flask on he table. Hector tsked, shaking his head.

"Really, amigo, you mustn't drink so much. After all. it might make you-"

Hector slid some paper Ernesto was looking at onto the floor.

"-See things."

Ernesto stared at the papers, then looked at the bottle. He shook his head and took another swig, reaching over the table and right through Hector's left calf to get them. Hector waved his hand, dismissing Ernesto's clear alcohol infatuation and strolled over to behind the couch Ernesto was sitting on. He looked over his shoulder, skimming over the papers that Ernesto was currently studying.

He could almost feel his heart drop.

Ernesto was currently analyzing Hector's songbook, and the page he was changing was the page that Hector had spent months on, starting the second his life had changed for the better and brightened with the presence of a new life.

Ernesto was changing-butchering, maiming-the song Hector had written for Coco.

Remember Me was now under Ernesto's control, being scribbled out and obliterated.

Just like Hector.

Before Hector could do anything, Ernesto took the phone back in his hand and picked out a number, sighing impatiently as he waited for the person on the other side to pick up. Hector could hear the 'click' of the person on the other line pick up, and Ernesto's disgruntled attitude dissolved immediately.

"Hola, Senor Martinez! Si, I have indeed found an act for your venue! Yes, singing and guitar. Si, I have indeed collected a group of people to come, and I think you'll be pleasantly surprised! Two days? 8:00 pm? Si, that works! Muchas Gracias!"

A break, and then,

"Why yes, I have come up with an original song! How do you feel about a love ballad? 'Remember Me, as I call it. Si, it was written for something special."

Ernesto just had time to get the other details out and hang up. Hector stood behind him, furious.

Needless to say, this conversation had tipped Hector over the edge.

He jumped over the couch and slapped the flask out of Ernesto's hand, just barely resisting the urge to punch him in the stomach. He instead opted to knocking things over, taking no notice to the shocked look on Ernesto's face. Papers, bottles, everything went flying. That was, until he got to an old picture. The smiling faces of Ernesto and a younger Hector stared back at him, smiling. It had been taken after their first gig in New York, and you could see that Hector's shirt was a few sizes too big. After all, it had been an old one of Ernesto's.

That picture was thrown down, shattering.

Ernesto jumped up, but before he could investigate, Hector threw open the door and slammed it, right in the horrified and befuddled face of Ernesto.

Hector walked through his front door, still fuming. The entire walk home had been spent thinking, plotting, putting things together. He had barely noticed when he reached his own front door, opting to lean against the internal doorframe and run a hand through his hair. He was still mad, but listening to the sounds of Imelda and Coco going through the regular night routine calmed him. He chuckled at the sound of Coco trying to sing "Poco Loco" along with her mother, and called out, jokingly,

"Amor, I'm home!"

Not to much to his surprise, he heard Coco stop her singing and giggling abruptly. The sound of her footsteps and her cries of,

"PAPA!"

were the sweetest music to Hector's ears. He gave a tired smile when he heard her, and the smile only brightened when he saw her skid around the corner and run to him, braids flailing out behind her. She ran to him, and Hector bent to receive her.

He put everything he had into wrapping his arms around her. His love, his fear, his passion-it all went to her.

He couldn't feel her warmth, he couldn't smell her shampoo, but he could feel her heart beat and he could feel her chest heave under his arms.

He never wanted to let go again.

He pulled away, and he could see the wonder and love in her eyes, and he finally was able to stroke her cheek, wiping away her tears with his thumb and shedding a few of his own. He kissed her then, a peck on the forehead, on the cheek. And in those kisses, he tried to convey everything he wished he had said to her, everything he wouldn't be able to say.

Ay, Dios...Ay, Dios, gracias. Thank you...for her. If nothing else, for her.

She leaned into his admittedly cold touch and smiled, gazing into his eyes. This moment felt like it stretched forever, just Hector and his mi'ija.

Unfortunately, the moment came to an end in the form of Imelda.

"Coco, mi'ija, what did I tell you? Please don't talk abut him like he's here, he's-"

Imelda turned the corner to see Coco hugging what seemed to be think air, and stopped dead in her tracks. Hector released Coco and stood, eyes trained on Imelda. She seemed confused, but steeled herself and stared down at her daughter.

"Coco, you need to stop this. He is dead, and nothing will stop that. You need to-"

"Coco, tell Mama that she is wearing the purple dress she said she wanted to be buried in, and that she is wearing the earrings that Oscar and Philippe got her for a marriage present."

"Mama, Papa said that you're wearing the dress you want to be buried in, and the pretty earrings that Tio Oscar y Tio Philippe got you for your wedding day."

Imelda stopped dead, halfway bent to pick up Coco. Hector could see that she was thinking hard and fast, and that she was having an internal war with herself.

He decided to help her along.

"Tell her that two nights before I died that I came down to find her in the workshop, and that we danced, and sang."

Coco looked up at her mother, and halfway through relaying the message, Hector began to sing. He put his being into the words, his hope that she will believe, the apologizes he wished he could make, the devastation of her decision to forget.

"Ay, de mi Llorona..."

Coco closed her eyes and listened, and said,

"Can you hear him, Mama? He's singing."

Coco began to sing along, and through her small and strong voice, Imelda swore she could hear a far-away melody, one as familiar to her as her own heartbeat. The voice soared, and although she tried to stay strong, she could feel her tears begin to fall. She wanted so hard to forget, to move on. But she couldn't deny it. He was a part of her, she needed him.

She let out a strangled sob as she felt a phantom thumb wipe her tears from her cheek, and a familiar pair of lips place themselves on her forehead.

Coco, who had been watching, smiled and wiped a tear on her sleeve.

"Did you hear him, Mama? He just said.."

For a moment, it was as if Hector's voice replaced Coco's.

"Incluso si me cuesta la vida. Even if it costs me my life."

Imelda lowered her head, and she could almost feel Hector's arms around her, stroking her hair. She gasped, looking up slowly through her tears.

"Hector?"


	11. I can't forgive you

Imelda had never been a weak-hearted person, but even she had to lie down in order to wrap her mind around this.

Coco had followed her, leading her down to the couch as Imelda could hear hot water begin to run under the tap. After a few minutes of heavy breathing and a mini-crisis, she could see a mug of her favorite orange tea floating its way over to her and being placed gently in her palm. She stared at it, at the steam rising and swirling gracefully in the air.

Dios, was she finally going insane from grief?

Coco stroked her hair and stared at the space above the table, where Imelda presumed Hector was sitting. She took a sip of her tea.

It was just how she liked it. Just like he made it.

She swallowed, wiping at the dry tear stains that streaked her face. Taking a deep breath, she asked,

"Why are you still here? Why didn't you pass on? Why have you been sneaking around like a little-"

Hector smiled, then raised a hand to cut her off, a move Coco followed and earned a glare from Imelda for.

"I don't know, I don't know, and I had nothing else to do. You were my world in life, you're my world in death."

Coco smiled and relayed the message to her mother. While she was repeating her father's words, Hector smiled and looked over at his wife and child. There would never be any words for his feelings when he had heard Imelda utter his name in such a rigid disbelief and hope, never any way to describe the mix of elation, hope, and shock that had filled him at that moment. He had caught Imelda as her knees gave way-which, not surprisingly-had caused her to swoon harder. It had taken both Hector and Coco working together to get her over to the couch. Hector was cautious around her: after all, even if she couldn't see, hear, or do any damage to him, he still had no desire to tangle with her.

Pepita must have sensed the change in atmosphere, because she decided to leap lightly up onto Imelda's lap, bumping her head against Imelda's wrist and offering herself for comfort. She stared directly at Hector, who smiled and reached to stroke the cat. Pepita didn't turn away, and Hector gave her a special scratch behind the ears.

If Hector couldn't physically be there for his familia, at least he could count on Pepita to be there.

Coco finished relaying the message, and Imelda slowly nodded. She pointed to somewhere in Hector's abdomen and asked,

"Where is he? Is he there?"

Hector reached out and cupped his hands around Imelda's, squeezing in reassurance and love. Imelda stared down at her hand, trying to wrap her mind around the fact that the cold tingling she felt was her husband's hands-her dead husband's hands-as he sat in front of her, invisible.

Dios, she really was going insane.

Hector and Coco both clutched the edges of their seats as they waited for Imelda to respond, to react. For a moment, she merely sniffed, took another sip of tea, and braced herself. Fighting back tears, she asked, looking here she assumed Hector's eye level was,

"Why did you die? Why did you leave us?"

All of her emotions suddenly exploded out of her, and she let out every question, every doubt she had held locked inside since his death, not caring if she was talking to nothing.

"How could you! Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to move on, to live life without you? Every day I opened my eyes, praying that it was all a bad dream and that I would wake up to hear your estupido snoring next to me and to see your ridiculous nose and big brown eyes and that you would still be there, for me, for Coco. I wanted you to be there! So why did you leave?"

Hector looked down and sighed, and Coco placed a hand on her mother's shoulder. Eyes closed, Hector spoke to the ground, Coco listening intently to his every word.

"I know. I know I left you and I know I made a mistake, and I'm sorry. I watched you grieve, all I could do was watch as you forgot abut me and tried to move on. I understand that it was hard, and I apologize, from the bottom of my heart. I'm sorry, Imelda. I never meant to leave. All I wanted was to come home."

Hector still refused to look up, but he could hear the slight tremble in Coco's voice as she relayed the message. When he finished, he remembered the events of the few previous hours, and raised his head.

"And I didn't mean to leave. I didn't get alcohol poisoning. I was poisoned, Imelda. Murdered. By..."

He looked up at Coco, who was still hanging onto his every word

"...by Ernesto. He stole my songs, my guitar, and he tried to steal you, too. But I won't let him. I know how to stop him, but I need your help. Please, amor. I need you. I've always needed you."

Coco's eyes widened at the reveal, but she continued to relay Hector's message word for word to her mother, who's eyebrows were furrowed deeper than Hector thought possible. For a moment she looked as though she would strike something, but instead, she looked up, steely-eyed.

"I wanted to forget you."

Hector frowned, back to staring at the ground under his feet.

"I wanted Coco to forget you."

Still staring at the ground, tears threatened to pour.

"I will not forgive you for abandoning this family. For abandoning me, and Coco."

What little hope Hector still held evaporated.

"But I will help you."

Imelda's words hit Hector like a slap in the face, and he and Coco both looked up, hopeful. Imelda leaned forward and stared Hector in the nose (she thought it was the eye).

"What do you want us to do?"


	12. Don't I know you?

Imelda watched numbly as Coco's hair flattened as Hector kissed her forehead, listened as Coco finished a duet that Imelda couldn't hear the beginning of. Although she still found this all slightly insane, she couldn't deny the warm feeling that swarmed inside of her as she saw Coco's eyes light up when she saw both of her parents together again.

She felt Hector's hand grab hers and pull her out of Coco's room. The minute she was in the living room, however, she began pacing, twirling her wedding ring over and over on her finger. Her eyes flitted back and forth as she ran over everything that had happened in the past few hours in a manner of seconds. She seemed to be assessing her own mental health in her mind as she took each step, and Hector could only reach out to her as she passed.

Even though he had seen it before, her feverish worry and movement never failed to make him anxious.

He grabbed her arm, and she stopped dead, eyes glaring and searching the area where his features were etched in worry. Although she couldn't see him, she could just imagine the same face she had seen many times before, eyebrows furrowed and nose crinkled, eyes full of the most tender kindness and concern Imelda had ever seen.

She took a deep breath, and almost lost herself leaning into his touch as he caressed her cheek.

Ay, dios, she missed him.

She caught herself just as the words,

"Oh, mi amor"

were about to escape her lips, and steeled herself. She glared at the level she was used to-where she knew his big brown eyes were staring worriedly down at her-and said,

"Look. I still want to believe that this is just a very vivid nightmare, but this is still to strange to wrap my mind now. What you're asking us to do is dangerous-and frankly, stupid-so I have no doubt believing that it is YOUR plan, so I am going to need to be on my best wits to get you out of trouble, but Coco as well when you drag her into your stupid ideas. I'm going to bed. You will stay down here, and we will figure out how to go about your estupido plan tomorrow morning."

She turned on her heel, skirt flowing around her calves, and moved towards the stairs. Before she could reach the door to their bedroom, she glared at the spot where she had left him last.

"And don't follow me."

She closed the door, and the finality of her statement hung in the air.

Hector chuckled. This was the Imelda he knew.

He settled onto the couch and stared at the ceiling, waiting for morning.

Now, Imelda huffed and pulled her coat tighter around her, squeezing Coco's hand as they faced the biting cold of the New York air. She looked back and forth, skeptically eying the buildings around her. She trusted the pull of Coco's hand and the pressure of the phantom hand on her back to guide her. Such thoughts as,

'What am I doing. Why am I doing this? This can't be real. I'm going insane. I'm going-'

kept running through her mind, and as much as she wanted to write this off as a bad dream, she couldn't deny it. Something in her had soared when she had finally felt his touch after months of longing, and she couldn't deny that she was-in a way-strangely comforted by the thought of his presence.

But it was still too strange.

Hector could see the dark circles under her eyes-covered in her usual makeup as they may be-and she could tell instantly that she hadn't gotten enough sleep.

And honestly, he couldn't blame her.

Coco looked back at her father, smiling as she savored the image of her Papa smiling down at the two of them and her Mama carrying the same look she always did when she came to unfamiliar parts of the city (and usually on escapades lead by her Papa). Coco began to skip along, happy that her family was-more or less-back to normal. Although Imelda would have told her to calm down, she backed off and let her daughter revel in the most genuine happiness she had seen out of her mi'ija since her father's death.

Hector smiled at the two of them, but stopped them abruptly as a brightly lit marquee caught his eye. Imelda's sharp look dissipated almost immediately when she saw what lie in front of them.

Ay, dios.

Both Hector and Imelda could instantly understand why Ernesto-a man who never wanted anything less than the best-would have bought out such a place. It was the downtown equivalent of the Radio City Music Hall, with only slightly less splendor. Hector and Imelda cranked their necks in unison to catch the full scope of the marquee as Coco read the posting outside the doors.

"Mama, Papa! It says he plays at 7!"

Imelda looked down at her watch.

"It's 6:35. We have just enough time to catch him before he goes on."

She turned to Coco, who looked at Hector. Coco tried to open the door, only to find it locked. Hector snorted.

"Closed Marquee. The bum."

Coco giggled and Imelda glared. She crossed her arms and tapped her foot, high heeled boots clicking.

"Well?"

Hector smiled and slipped through the big oak doors, easily picking the lock and turning the knob to admit his wife and daughter. Imelda took Coco's hand and led her inside, Hector following in their wake. Imelda looked over her shoulder and whispered,

"Tell us where to go, idiota, so we can get Coco out of here. I don't want her anywhere near that man."

Hector nodded and placed a hand on her shoulder, guiding her as she scooped up Coco in her arms. As they passed the seating area to reach the backstage doors, Imelda gasped.

That was a lot of people.

Ernesto hadn't been kidding when he said he had gathered a following. There were people of all kinds lounging at the small tables and chair, milling in the standing area, and chatting in the boxes.

Imelda even thought she could see her friend Jade in the corner.

She didn't have time to dwell on the sheer number of people, as Hector pulled them through the (newly unlocked) stage door. Coco looked around at all of the flashy costumes the backup dancers were wearing-really? Since when did Ernesto have backup dancers?-and the bright sets that were laying against the walls-oh come on!-eyes full of the same wonder they always held whenever her father performed. Imelda and Hector both looked around in a mix of disgust and numbed awe.

Could this man's ego get any bigger?

Imelda set Coco down and clutched her hand, reminding herself of the plan.

Find Ernesto, give him a piece of her mind, and make him pay for his crimes.

All without-preferably-hurting Coco or getting her hands dirty.

She was a lady, after all.

She was too caught up her thoughts that she didn't notice that she was rounding a corner.

Coco and Hector's cries of,

"Look out!"

Went unnoticed.

That was, until, she ran right into Ernesto himself.

She recovered first, shaking herself off and staring at him. He took a little extra time, dusting off his white suit and adjusting his hat before looking up. The look of surprise that crossed his face would have been priceless in any other context.

"Imelda? What are you-"

SMACK!

Before he could get another word out, Imelda took off her boot and slapped him across the face, breaking the heel in the process but secretly reveling in the feeling. Before he could register what had happened, she was pointing the shoe at him like a sword and glaring at him.

"THAT WAS FOR MURDERING THE LOVE OF MY LIFE!"

Hector was taken aback.

He knew she still loved him.

Unable to fully relish in this small victory, he slid over to Ernesto and punched him, hard, across the jaw. Ernesto reeled, confused and terrified.

"She's talking about me."

Ernesto looked around madly, trying to find a way out. Finding none, he did what he always did when faced with confrontation.

He ran away.

Hector, Imelda, and Coco watched his retreating back, and all screamed, in a unison only the Rivera family could muster,

"AFTER HIM!"

And the chase was on.


	13. Oh Ernesto

(Trigger warning for violence and death!)

Ernesto bolted through the backstage corridors, desperate to escape the figures chasing him, even though he couldn't see one of them. With the speed of a trapped animal, he ducked and dodged under arms and set pieces. Despite his efforts, he could hear the clack of Imelda's half-broken heels and the pounding of little Coco's feet as she dashed behind her mother. Hector bounded in front of them, using his weightlessness and long limbs to his advantage.

He caught up to Ernesto as Imelda bent and scooped Coco up in her arms-no easy feat while running-and ran beside him, shoving and pushing him to slow him. He succeeded in tripping him up as Ernesto banged open the door to a large dressing room, slamming the door on Imelda's approaching face but doing noting to stop Hector.

He leaped through the door and flung it open as Ernesto stared, wide-eyed. Imelda pushed her way through the door and glared at Ernesto with a rage that would have melted the sequins sewn into his jacket, setting a similarly glaring Coco down. Coco immediately locked eyes with Hector, who nodded. As Ernesto stared at Imelda and began to sputter out some semblance of an explanation, Hector pulled his arm back and socked Ernesto cross the jaw.

He couldn't say that he wasn't a little satisfied at the sound his fist made wen connecting with Ernesto's jawline.

Ernesto reeled and sputtered, raising a hand to his face and staring, horrified at his red-stained hand. He looked wildly around, but he still failed to see Hector, who turned to Coco.

"Mi'ija, you and Mama look away."

He made sure Coco averted her eyes before sending another blow into Ernesto's stomach, then his ribs, then his nose. He knew how out of character it was for him, bu at the moment, all he cared about was putting everything he could into the blows.

The love and tenderness that was present in his touch when he was with Imelda and Coco had disappeared, replaced with an unbridled rage and fury which he was convinced that even the Dios of old would be envious of. Every insult and fear, every curse and anger-filled night spent alone and devastated went into his fists, and Ernesto was left clutching his chest on the floor of the dressing room, eyes wide with terror and heart full of fear.

Hector stood and spit, tired but not at all done.

He wiped his mouth and crouched next to Ernesto, putting venom into his words.

"Now do you believe in ghosts?"

Ernesto looked wildly around, eyes trying to grasp at something, anything.

The truth hit him like a freight train.

In a voice that was barely a whisper, a voice of a man who knew he was facing the consequences of his actions, he said,

"H-Hector?"

Hector smirked and threw another blow at him. Ernesto tried to struggle, to find a way to get an advantage over his former friend.

Pointless.

Hector threw blow after blow, becoming clumsy in his satisfaction and fury. Ernesto was growing wild, end Hector caught a gleam of malice in his eyes.

Oh, dios, no.

He called over his shoulder, screaming at the top of his lungs,

"COCO! YOU AND MAMA GET OUT OF HERE! GO!"

But it was too late.

Just as Coco began pulling her mother towards the exit, Ernesto lashed out and grabbed one of her braids. Coco screamed, and Imelda lunged at Ernesto, only to be banged upside the head and pushed aside.

All three Riveras screamed at once, and I would be hard to say whose was louder.

Hector lurched forward, determined to rescue his familia, but staggered backward as Ernesto pulled a jackknife from his pocket and flung it open with the precision of someone who had been expecting confrontation for years. Coco began crying and clutching hopelessly at her braids, her screams intensifying as she saw her mother beaten and felt the cold blade of the knife being pressed to her throat. Her vision swam as she stared at her Papa, who looked like a cornered animal as he watched his friend threaten his family. Ernesto knew that he had Hector in a corner, at a loss, that he now held the upper hand. The idiota would do anything for his family. Ernesto looked wildly around, and spoke in a low, gravely voice, like a large predator trying to coax some final pleas out of its terrified prey.

"Look. I didn't want to kill you, Hector. I would have loved to let you live, to go free. But you hung onto that songbook-onto your family-so tightly that there was no other way. There was a time where I regretted it, but I knew it was necessary. To get what I wanted, what I deserved. There was a time I may have considered all of this insane. But now...oh, now..."

He paused, and pressed the knife a little deeper into Coco's throat as Imelda stirred silently behind him. Hector looked into the eyes of his former friend. He remembered the days when they were filled with mirth, pride, happiness. He had been the best man at Hector's wedding, he had been one of the first people to hold Coco. Those eyes had once belonged to a friend, a brother.

Hector no longer recognized the insane and malicious eyes that looked for him.

Ernesto continued, unaware of Imelda as she propped herself up on her elbow or Hector as he stalked around him.

"Now I'll do whatever it takes to seize my moment."

Before he could finish the deed, Hector yanked the knife out of Ernesto's hand at the same moment Imelda flung herself onto him, effectively freeing Coco from his grip. She took time to kick Ernesto in the groin with all that she had on the way out, and ran to help her mother as she pummeled Ernesto repeatedly with everything she could flail with enough force. Hector loosened Imelda's grip on Ernesto until she slid off his back, and he shoved the furious Ernesto out the door with all he had, all while calling out to Coco,

"You and Mama stay here and lock the door!"

Coco obeyed him, and as the door slammed and Ernesto was shoved into a piece of scenery, Hector added,

"This is my fight now."

Ernesto tried to run away, but everywhere he turned Hector was right there with a punch or a shove. They made there way into the main stage area, and through a curtain, Hector could hear the sounds of impatient chatter.

Not that it kept Ernesto from sprinting away and throwing as many switches and levers as he could, desperate to keep the malevolent spirit of his former amigo away. Various props and items fell, and Hector had to catch a sandbag before it could fall on the head of an unsuspecting dancer.

Ernesto was getting reckless, and that made him even more dangerous.

Hector was caught up trying to keep the would-be victims of Ernesto's panic, so he didn't notice when Ernesto flung open the curtains and threw one last lever. The ropes entwined around it began to loosen, and Hector knew that Ernesto had made his last mistake.

And despite everything that had happened, despite all that Ernesto had put him and his familia through, he couldn't let it happen.

No like this.

Ernesto had sprinted onto the stage and began looking around, the applause that greeted his entrance only aiding in his confusion. The applause faded quickly once the audience got a look at his movements, and even those in the back could see the crazed look in his eyes.

Hector couldn't reach him in time.

Just as he sprinted into the bright stage lights and reached out to his friend, the sound of loosening rope began to crescendo. Ernesto barley had time to look up, and Hector's cry of,

"LOOK OUT!"

died in his throat as an elegant bell prop came barreling towards them.

Hector just had time to screw his eyes shut before the CLANG of the bell cut off all sounds, including Ernesto's scream.

Hector refused to open his eyes until his ears had stopped ringing.

He took his hands off of his head, but kept his eyes shut for another moment. Slowly, cautiously, he pried his eyes open and took a look around.

He wan't remotely surprised to be met with nothing but darkness.

For a split second, he felt trapped, hopeless, scared, but he took a deep breath and walked through the walls around him, not stopping until he was engulfed by the stage lights. He remembered a time when he would be comforted by their glow, but now...

He turned around and looked at the scene in front of him. The theater was dead silent, the shock clearly still fresh. Hector took a deep breath and looked at the scene that faced him.

The sound of rapid breathing began, and the slow emerging of a hand from the wall of the bell, then a foot, then a torso. Ernesto's face held nothing bust shock and horror as he emerged, shock that was only intensified by the sight of Hector, standing in front of him despite the fact that he was dead. Ernesto hardly dared to believe it. His voice was soft and cautious, like a soilder stepping around a landmine.

"H-Hector?"

There was nothing left for Hector to do but shake his head, eyes full of sorrow and a soft despair.

"Oh, Ernesto..."

Hector could practically see the cogs turning in Ernesto's brain, and as reality settled in, he slowly turned around to see the wreckage of his actions.

Seeing the paramedics lift his lifeless and broken body onto a stretcher must have hit home.

Hector had never heard him scream so loud.

Although he screamed for all he was worth, the noise began to mix and join with something more sinister, a sound that sent a chill down both of their non-existent spines.

The shadows cast by the monstrous bell and the curtains began to shift and rise in horrible and disturbing ways, taking vaguely human shapes and dragging themselves slowly towards the two spirits. They moaned and cried out, the agony of their pasts and the weight of their crimes lending a voice to their pain. Hector shivered and curled in on himself, but couldn't stop staring at their vacant, expressionless eyes. He winced as one passed him, the temperature of the air around him dropping rapidly. He feared for his existence for a moment before he realized.

They weren't there for him.

Ernesto's first scream was the worst, full of fear and uncertainty and agony as the first few demons grabbed his arms and tore at his jacket. He was dragged forward jerked backwards, his screams and the moans of the demons becoming indistinguishable to Hector's ears. The horrified look in Ernesto's eyes was enough to make Hector screw his eyes shut and turn away. He had wanted to sprint forward, to help, to save his former friend from this fate, but the look in the demon's eyes and the finality of the screams kept him back. he watched numbly as the shadows pulled Ernesto downwards, his cries growing faint in he disappeared for the final time.

Hector lowered his head and closed his eyes, the frenzied of the crowd never reaching his ears. Silently, he said his last goodbye to Ernesto, the man he was when they were children.

"Goodbye, old friend."


	14. I've always loved you

Hector walked numbly through the backstage corridors, tiredly sidestepping the stagehands and dancers that were now rushing towards the stage and the exit. Although he didn't know what exactly, he could feel a mix of emotions welling inside his chest. Regret, despair, satisfaction? He couldn't tell. All that mattered right now was that Ernesto was dead, and that he had to get back to his family.

Oh, dios, his family.

His pace began to gain urgency, and he found his nervous jog turning into his usual loping run as he barreled through the door to the dressing room.

No one.

Panic began to settle in.

"COCO! IMELDA!"

No answer.

He threw himself through the door and began to search wildly through each room and closet, growing more and more desperate with every step.

It wasn't until he threw himself threw the rooftop door that he slowed.

Huddled in a corner and concealed from sight by an air conditioning unit was Imelda and Coco, a few of Imelda's hairs breaking free of her bun and blowing gently in the autumn breeze. Both she and Coco had their eyes closed, and Imelda was clinging onto Coco-who was curled into a ball-with all she had, and Hector could see a few tears glistening in the corners of each of their eyes. Seeing them huddled there, terrified, caused the full weight of all that had just happened to weigh on Hector.

He to a staggering step forward, burying his face in his hands and barely managing to restrain a sob.

He almost lost them. He almost lost Coco and Imelda and it was all his fault. It was all his fault for leaving and dying and thinking it would be a good idea to bring them here, right into the same danger he had been in.

Ay, dios, lo siento. Imelda, Coco, lo siento. I never should have come here, I never should have stayed.

Why couldn't he have just passed on? He had the chance. The light had come for him, called for him, but he had turned away. Selfishly. He had wanted to stay with them, to hold onto any part of his life that he could. And that had caused them all more pain than if he had just stayed away.

His chest heaved, but he moved forward.

He still had a job to do.

Wiping his eyes, he made it over to the unit, to where Coco and Imelda still remained. Neither had moved, and Hector wished that he could just wrap his arms around them both and let the world pass them by. Seeing them there-alive and seemingly unharmed-gave him a newfound strength.

There was no use dwelling on what could have happened. All that mattered is what was happening, and what did. He was still dead, and they were alive, and there was no changing that.

He looked at them both, drinking them in, before speaking up.

"Are you two alright?"

Coco raised her head and sniffed, a stray tear streaming down her face. He smiled at her, and she returned it. He could see a faint mark where the knife had been, but it seemed faint. It would disappear. A wave of relief washed over Hector. The mark would disappear, much like the memory of this night, with time.

He was so preoccupied with Coco that he did not notice Imelda raise her head, and look around. He didn't avert his eyes until he heard her speak, a small, meek, wary sound that could have been blow away by the breeze.

"H-Hector? Is that you?"

Both Coco and Hector looked at her as her eyes searched the area where Hector was now crouched, neither daring to believe it. Hector narrowed his eyes, a spark of hope igniting within him.

"Imelda?"

Imelda gasped softly, her hand flying to her mouth as she looked around once more. She smiled, hardly daring to believe it herself.

"I...I can hear you!"

Hector's breath caught in his chest, but before he could say anything, before he could jump for joy or begin crying out of happiness, he felt a familiar warmth spread through him, and he stood involuntarily. He shook out his shoulders and looked up at the source of the warmth.

The light from earlier. From the night he was killed.

the light was not blinding, nor was it burning. Just like before, it called to him, reassured him, beckoning him to step into it and find peace at last.

And this time, he knew he could finally rest.

He turned away from the light, back towards his family. Instead of the blank stares he was expecting, he was greeted with the wide and awestruck eyes of both Coco AND Imelda.

But how...

Looking down at his arms, he could see that he was surrounded in a soft, faint orange glow, which must be illuminating him and allowing him to be seen, and Hector knew why.

It was time to say goodbye.

Coco was staring up at him in wonder, and he bent to her level, wiping her tears as tenderly as he could as she clutched his hand. He felt his own tears fall. He realized how much he was going to miss. Her birthdays, her quinceanera, her wedding day. He wouldn't get to see his little girl grow up, like he had hoped he would from the day he saw her for the first time. He had promised her then that he would always be there, to watch over and protect her.

He could only hope that he had done a good job.

Through a shaky voice and trembling hands, he cupped her cheek in his hands.

"I have to go now, mi'ija. I can't stay anymore."

Coco closed her eyes, but the tears kept coming. Hector's flowed more freely now.

He knew he would have to say goodbye someday.

He continued to wipe her tears away, and she clung to his hand.

She didn't want him to go. She needed him.

But she knew it was time.

Her eyes still closed, she tried to be strong, to be brave for her Papa. His voice started to float on the wind, the familiar melody carrying over the sound of her tears and their sadness.

"Remember me..."

Coco looked up at him, watching the tears stream down his face as he continued to sing.

Almost every night since she was born, he had sang this song to her, but never, never had it ever or will it ever mean more than now.

This was his goodbye to her, his final promise. She closed her eyes and listened, etching his face and his voice into her mind.

"Don't let it make you cry."

He continued, trying to savor the feeling of her cheek on his hand and the expression of love on her face.

"Know that I am here with you the one way I can be..."

Coco looked up at him and ran towards him, burying her face into his now semi-solid chest. Both sang together, the emotion in both of their voices doing nothing to stop the outpouring of love they held for each other. Their beings went into their words, and both knew the truth behind their words.

"Until you're in my arms again..."

Coco clutched her father's jacket and Hector wrapped his arms tighter around her.

"Remember me..."

The last notes lingered in the air as Papa and hija embraced for the last time.

Hector kissed her, a lingering kiss that he poured all he had into.

He could only hope she understood how much he loved her.

"Don't forget me, okay mi'ija?"

Coco looked up at her father and nodded, burying her face in his chest once more. He stroked her hair.

"I promise I'll always be with you. I won't leave you again. Not really."

He could feel Coco nod from under is chin, still crying.

He pulled her tighter and kissed her again.

"Never forget that I love you, okay mi'ija? I love you so much. So much."

Coco looked back up at her father and nodded, flinging her arms around his neck.

"I love you too, Papa. So much. I'm going to miss you."

Hector looked down at her and kissed her once more.

"Like a hole in my heart, mi'ija. Never forget."

He gave her one last squeeze, but before she let him say his last goodbyes to Imelda, she squeezed his hand.

"Goodbye, Papa."

Hector had to actively hold back another wave of tears.

"Goodbye, Coco."

A last kiss, then he turned to Imelda, who had watched the whole scene with wide, awestruck, and swimming eyes.

She was seeing her husband as if for the first time.

It wasn't until he was crouching in front of her and gazing at her with the most tender and gentle eyes she had ever seen that she truly realized how much she had missed him.

How much she would miss him.

She had thought about what she would ever say to him if she ever got the chance, she thought that she would never let him back into her life, even if it was somehow possible.

But not even her steely resolve could keep the tears from streaming, and nothing could keep the pit from widening in her stomach.

This was it.

She couldn't find it in herself to be even the slightest bit angry.

Hector leaned forward, moving slowly, and pressed his lips tenderly onto hers. It was all he had wanted to do, all he wanted to say after his death-and maybe before-embodied into one gesture, but not even death could keep his heart from jumping when she leaned in and kissed him back.

It was her way of excepting the apologies and promises that she could sense in the kiss. She excepted them, and she made her own promises in return.

Neither of them could tell how long the kiss lasted, but Hector pulled away first, standing and offering a hand to his wife. Imelda took it and stood with him, leaning into his touch as he wiped her tears. He put his arms around her, and she copied his motions, leaning into him. She wanted to savor this feeling, this emotion, and she wanted to stay this way forever.

Funny. For someone who had told the world that she was glad he had left, she seemed to be awfully reluctant to let him go.

She felt herself moving, and her legs moved of their own accord. Hector's faintly glowing head was buried into her shoulder, and she could tell that he was trying to hold back his tears. They moved the way they had when he had found her in the workshop, when he had told her that their love would never fade. Their movements were gentler now, and Imelda could feel that Hector was afraid of making another promise he couldn't keep. She lifted his head and put her hand on his check, looking into his endless brown eyes for what she knew would be the last time. She could see the question in his eyes.

'Do you still love me?'

Wordlessly, Imelda pulled herself closer to him and kissed him deeply.

"Incluso si me cuesta la vida. Even if it costs me my life, I will never stop loving you."

Hector let put a small sob and stroked her cheek. She gazed up at him, smiling. The light behind Hector intensified, and he looked back at it, then at Imelda and Coco.

It was time.

He kissed Imelda once more, squeezing her hand as he took a step backwards and into the light.

"I can't stay anymore."

Coco moved towards her Mama and took her hand, both staring at Hector as he looked behind him. He seemed to be making a decision. He turned and addressed Imelda.

"In my desk, in the top drawer, lift up the sheet music and you'll find a secret compartment. The key is tapped to the back of the Llorona sheet music. They were supposed to be for your birthdays, but I guess now is a good time. You'll understand what I mean."

Imelda nodded and squeezed Coco's hand, wiping her tears on her sleeve as she watched Hector take a few more steps forward. The light seemed to envelop him, but he took one last look behind him. Speaking to the both of them, he said,

"It's amazing, you know. The love inside," he chuckled at the cheesiness of the statement, although it was true, "you take it with you."

Imelda and Coco both watched as he began to disappear, finailly at peace.

His last words to them, his last statement of,

"Goodbye, mis amores."

settled into the air around them as they watched him fade into the light. The air around them slowly began to darken as the light faded, leaving Coco and Imelda to clutch each other and cry.

EPILOUGE

The sounds of children at play rang throughout the loft, the chuckles of the adults mixing to create a wave of happiness to wash through the woman who was currently sat in the wheelchair by the window overlooking the street and the adjacent park. She took a glance outside and basked in the feeling of the warm summer sun and smiled at the passerby below.

96 years had passed since that night, and Socorro Rivera didn't get around that well anymore. Her knees had seized up and parts of her memory had begun to slip, but she could still remember that night as plain as day. She had never told the full story, but the tale of her father and all the wonderful things he had done was still one of her favorites to tell.

And judging by the eager look of the little twelve-year old bot on the floor, it was somebody's favorite to hear.

She took a deep breath in a put a hand to her neck, pulling on the long chain that was clasped there to reveal a swinging golden pendent, which she stroked thoughtfully as she spoke.

"My Papa was a musician..."

The story began the same way as it always did, with her soft but steady voice faithfully telling the story of her wonderful father, whom he knew had loved her more than anything.

He had told her so.

As she talked, she opened the locket around her neck and stared fondly at the picture inside. On one side was a snapshot of her father that her mother had taken on their first date, where his gold tooth was in full display in his toothy, goofy smile. on the other side, a miniature of the picture her father had been so fond of-the one with the tree of them on their trip to Mexico oh so many years ago-which was now hanging proudly on the wall, as to avoid any child-related incidents.

The lockets had been their last gift from Hector, the very things which he instructed Imelda to retrieve from his desk. A matching pair, with simply the family portrait on one side.

It had been a unanimous decision to place his portrait on the other side.

Imelda had been buried in hers, and as Coco had taken rule as the new Rivera family matriarch, she couldn't help but imagine that her parents were now reunited, happily together and watching their family grow.

She knew she would be joining them soon, but for now, she was content to watch her family run around the family loft and live their lives, the lives in which she had ensured that they had always felt loved.

She began to wrap up her story, smiling back down at he boy in front of her as he listened intently, while also simultaneously eating a tangerine.

As she looked at him, all she could see was her father, and he knew that the boy in front of her would be destined for great things.

"And that's the story of my Papa."

The boy smiled and offered Coco a tangerine slice, which she took. He then took the familiar (and rightfully reclaimed) white skull guitar that had been leaning against his leg and began to pluck out a tune, one he had learned from his great-great grandfather's (also reclaimed) song book. Coco smiled as she listened to Miguel pluck out the tune, remembering fondly the way her father would test out each possibility when writing something new.

And if she closed her eyes tight enough, she could just see the figures of her Mama and Papa, hand in hand, happily watching over their daughter with pride.

Somewhere beyond time and space.


End file.
